


for those i love, i will sacrifice

by mudboned



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Military, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-04 10:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudboned/pseuds/mudboned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Jane's fighting a war overseas and Maura's doing her best to support her 6,551 miles away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanted to write an accurate military piece. A lot of this is from personal experience, other parts will be dramatized.
> 
> There will be a lot of military jargon and swearing. 
> 
> Enjoy. I appreciate questions, comments, and concerns.
> 
> (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9920263/1/for-those-i-love-i-will-sacrifice, if FF is more your style.)
> 
> I'm on tumblr with the same username if you'd like to drop by.

_“Specialist Rizzoli! Post!”_

_A tall, lean figure runs up in front of the small platoon congregated in formation behind the barracks. Only her platoon is present on this camp because of the different missions that the unit received, but she really only cares that her platoon is here to see this._

_“Attention to orders: Headquarters, Department of the Army.”_

_There’s a collective stomping of feet as the platoon immediately comes to the position of attention. The dust that swirls up from their movement elicits a couple coughs._

_“The President of the United States has reposed special trust and confidence in the patriotism, valor, fidelity and abilities of Specialist Jane Rizzoli. In view of these qualities and her demonstrated potential for increased responsibility, Specialist Jane Rizzoli is promoted to Sergeant with a date of rank of 12 AUG 2013.”_

_Jane stands at attention in front her company commander and first sergeant, trying to keep a straight face as they read the promotion orders. Her grin breaks out when her platoon sergeant rips the specialist patch off the chest of her uniform and replaces it with her sergeant stripes with a hearty thump of his fist._

_“Congratulations, Rizzoli. It’s been a long time coming.” His smile is genuine and his handshake vigorous. Jane shakes the hands of the commander and first sergeant before executing an about face to meet her platoon’s enthusiastic shouts of congratulations and applause._

_Jane discreetly tries to catch Specialist Frost’s eye in second squad and she sees him cheering obnoxiously, bringing his fingers to his mouth to whistle loudly, eliciting grimaces and mumbled swears from his surrounding battle buddies. Her squad leader, Staff Sergeant Korsak, is clapping, a broad smile on his face. When Jane meets his eyes, he sends her a wink. She chuckles and shakes her head fondly._

_She can’t wait to tell Maura._

 

* * *

 

“Rizzoli.”

Jane hears the voice and she feels the hand on her shoulder, shaking her. There’s a ridiculously bright light in her face and she swats at it, willing it to go away. She’s too tired for this shit. The task force had her and her team pulling security for 14 hours straight on a goddamn Afghan hotel that housed some higher American brass. The night shift had arrived late so they’d all returned back to base around 0100 and their next SP was 0530. She’d zombie walked straight to her cot and promptly fell asleep, weapon and all, only taking a couple seconds to drop her helmet next to her.

“ _Rizzoli,_ get the fuck up _.”_

She groans and lifts her head out of her sleeping bag to look at her clock, grimacing at the crick in her neck caused by sleeping in all her gear.  The clock reads 0315.

“What the fuck do you want, Grant?” Jane scowls at the sergeant hovering above her, purposely shining his goddamn flashlight in her eyes.  “It’s only 03.”

Sergeant Joey Grant, professional brown-noser. No one was surprised when his E5 came through abnormally quickly, considering how he never questioned orders and always followed regulations. Unlike Jane, who was unconventional in her leadership skills, refusing to follow stupid orders that didn’t make sense or put her soldiers in harm. However, Grant was ultimately a decent NCO and he took care of his soldiers. That was the only reason Jane tolerated him.

Sergeant Grant shrugs, his smirk unapologetic. “SP got moved up to 0400 so get your ass out of bed. Sergeant Korsak says be at the vics in 15.”

“You have gotta be goddamn kidding me.” There’s rustling as Jane attempts to maneuver her way around the barracks in the dark. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

“None of us do,” Grant snickers, shining his flashlight casually around the barracks. It was a mess of equipment, clothes and discarded food from the MREs. The past week had the entire squad doing the security and none of them had been able to get any laundry done. The barracks smelled like shit and a little bit of Frost’s throw up from the time they’d placed a dead camel spider in his sleeping bag. There was sand in places on her body Jane thought wouldn’t be possible, but apparently was.

“Grant, be useful and go tell Frost not to forget the batteries for the NVGs this time,” Jane shouts to him from inside her locker, desperately searching for an undershirt that didn’t smell like Frost's puke or jalapeno cheese spread.

There’s no reply from Grant, so Jane stops in her search to poke her head out and squint at the figure standing in her dark room. “Grant?”

“Rizzoli...”

“Do we need to set you up for an ear cleaning session with Doc? I said go tell Frost.”

“They said this would happen.” Grant’s voice is uncharacteristically soft. Jane hears a deep sigh and shuffling, as if Grant is preparing himself and Jane’s getting frustrated at this point because he may be an NCO too but she still has more time in service and this is absolutely not the time to go all alpha dog.

“Grant, I don’t have ti—“

“Frost is gone, Rizzoli. You know that. ”

She freezes, her body seizes uncontrollably. Her head is throbbing.

Because she already knew, didn’t she? Frost always came to wake her up, so why was Grant in here? Frost never forgets anything, she's the one that always forgets to replace the batteries in her night vision.

Her hands clench the corner of the locker and she can feel the metal dig into her palm, she grits her teeth. His statement washes over her and all she can feel is this chill in her bones and it’s all she can do not to fall to her knees because she knows, she remembers,

_his blood on her hands, it’s warm it’s warm against her skin, so he must be really warm but he’s shivering why_

_she grabs him and presses his body against her, desperate and wild, keep him warm_

_her hand wiping the blood out of his eyes and the smell of burning flesh, is that hers or his?_

_she’s whispering his name and then screaming, yelling for the medic, MEDIC_

_frost open your eyes, open them don’t you close your eyes listen to me can you hear me can you hear my voice_

_frost don’t you fucking dare_

_FROST_

* * *

  _“Even the finest sword plunged into salt water will eventually rust.”  
― Sun Tzu, " _The Art of War"__


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am enlisted in the military. I am currently on deployment in Afghanistan.
> 
> Questions, comments and concerns are appreciated.
> 
> Let me know: http://mudboned.tumblr.com

A common question that a veteran receives from civilians is “Why did you join the military?”.

There are all kinds of variations of this question. From the simple, ‘What made you join?’ to, ‘Was it because you couldn’t get into college?’.

The majority of veterans will tell you they wanted to serve their country and they thought the military would be able to set them on track, give them some discipline, etc. A lot came from military backgrounds and wanted to serve their country just as their fathers and their grandfathers had. Some realized had no other options after they graduated high school. Most veterans will tell you they joined for the education benefits they would receive. Others say they just wanted to wear the cool ass uniforms and be able to pick up chicks. Many will tell you they enlisted after 9/11 and wanted to hunt down the bastards who terrorized their beloved U.S. of A. Some just don’t have an answer.

It’s a simple question, but in reality, it’s not.

 

* * *

 

_“I think I might join the Army.” Frost throws it out casually like he’s saying he’s going up to the beach this weekend or he decided he was going to start on that paleolithic diet Maura has been going on about for the past week. The cafeteria has always been loud, but everyone hears him._

_The chatter at the table dies down. Ian doesn’t even bother looking surprised. He just seems almost sadly contemplative while Maura looks shocked, but quickly composes herself. Jane gapes at her best friend across the table and hurriedly swallows the large piece of burger in her mouth. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she leans forward, bracing her arms on the table to reach over and feel Frost’s forehead._

_Scowling, Frost swats her hand away and goes back to picking at his fries. “I’m not sick. Besides, I just said I was thinking about it.”_

_“Jesus, Barry. What about BCU? You got the acceptance letter a few weeks ago and now all of a sudden you’re thinking about joining the Army and becoming Captain America?” Jane plops back down in her seat, but appraises him across the table with critical eyes. “What’s going on?”_

_“Nothing’s going on. I’ve just been thinking, that’s all,” Frost shrugs. He’s avoiding eye contact and he keeps swirling patterns in his ketchup. His body is tense, almost as if he’s getting ready for an argument he knows Jane is going to start._

_Almost on cue, Jane opens her mouth, but it abruptly shuts close when Jane feels the sharp elbow to the side of her body._

_“I think it’s wonderful that you’re willing to serve your country, Barold,” Maura brightly chirps from her seat next to Jane. Maura retracts her elbow from Jane’s body and gives her girlfriend a slight glare before continuing. “Are you aware that less than 10% of current Americans have ever served in the military and less than 1% serves today? Also, less than 28% of Americans between the ages of 17-23 are qualified for military service. That’s approximately one in every four people.”_

_Barry looks gratefully to Maura and gives her a weak smile of thanks. He could always count on her._

_Jane rolls her eyes and deadpans, “Because the Army can only find one in every four people missing their common sense.”_

_“I’m going to go to the computer lab to get some homework done,” Frost grits out and abruptly stands up from the table. The movement is so sudden that his chair flies out from underneath him and clatters to the ground. His face is scrunched up with barely concealed frustration. “I’ll see you guys later, maybe.”_

_Frost leaves without giving the table another glance, fists balled tightly around the straps of his backpack. Jane, oblivious as always, looks after him for a couple of seconds and believing her work done, leans back and shrugs, returning back to her meal._

_“He came to me a couple days ago to talk about it.” Ian’s voice is quiet, but given the group’s proximity, they can all hear him clearly. Ian pauses, reaching over for the discarded chair and righting it._

_Ian continues, “He doesn’t have the money for BCU. The scholarships won’t cover enough of his tuition and he thinks that if he joins, he’ll be able to pay for school.”_

_Maura sees Jane’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t look up at him. Jane shoves a couple of fries in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before replying. “He won’t be able to go to school if he gets sent off to some godforsaken war zone and gets himself killed.”_

_“Jane, he doesn’t think there’s another way,” Ian tries to explain, because Lord knows Jane is as hard-headed and opinionated as they come. Sometimes he thinks Maura is a godsend because she seems to be the only one that Jane listens to._

_“You know he looks up to you, Jane. And all he wants is for you to listen and support him in whatever he’s deciding. You’re his best friend.”_

_“I’m not going to sit back and let my best friend throw his life away just because he doesn’t want to ask his friends for help,” Jane growls, her meal forgotten. Ian shakes his head and sighs, knowing he won’t get through to her like this._

_Maura places her hand on Jane’s forearm and strokes it methodically, quietly murmuring, “Jane, I think you should go talk to him. It would be beneficial for you both to address these issues between yourselves.”_

_Stilling Maura’s hand with her own, Jane searches her face with appraising eyes. “How are you so calm about this? He’s your friend, too. He could go to war, for god’s sake.”_

_“I could analyze it for many days, no doubt, going over his past behavior and coming to a conclusion on my own. But he is your friend after all, Jane. You two have always been headstrong and I have always found it best to go with the stream,” Maura explains, her mouth quirking up in a little smile._

_“It’s ‘go with the flow’,” Jane grins crookedly. It’s adorable when Maura tries to use idioms. She doesn’t even try to resist the urge to lean over and kiss the corner of Maura’s mouth. Maura smiles and responds by turning into the kiss._

_With a huge, dramatic sigh, Jane breaks the kiss and stands up, shoving her hands into the pockets of her pants. She looks back and forth between Ian and Maura and releases a hand to hook a thumb towards the general direction of Frost’s exit._

_Jane scrunches up her nose. “I’ll see you guys later. Gotta have a heart-to-heart.”_

* * *

The Islamic Republic of Afghanistan is approximately the size of Texas. According to the UN, in 2012, the population was 33.4 million people. The capital and largest city is Kabul. The major languages used consist of Dari and Pashto. Main exports are wool, fruit, nuts, carpets, and opium. Afghanistan time is 4 hours and 30 minutes ahead of Coordinated Universal Time. The country is landlocked and bordered by Iran, Pakistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan and China. Their monetary unit is called Afghani.

These are facts that Jane finds on the internet when she looks up “Afghanistan” on Google search.

What Google doesn’t tell her about Afghanistan, Jane had to find out the hard way.

Google didn’t tell her that civilians and soldiers on their first deployment tend to call people from Afghanistan, “Afghanis”, like they took a page from Operation Iraqi Freedom and pasted it in Afghanistan. People from Afghanistan are called Afghans. Calling them Afghanis is calling Americans, “dollars”. Afghani is their form of currency, not their nationality.

Google didn’t tell her that all Afghans should be her friends, but at the same time, Jane should never trust them. Just two weeks, a civilian contractor was shot and killed by an ANP (Afghan National Police), because of, according to authorities, “cultural differences between Afghan and Western troops”.

There isn’t a website that explains how deteriorated Afghanistan is. Jane sees the huge craters in the roads and the broken down clay homes built into the face of the mountains and she sees women with children in the middle of the street begging for change to buy bread. She’s flabbergasted when she sees a bright green Chevy Camaro driving down the road one day and her expression turns grim when she realizes that the owner most likely sells opium or weapons.

No one tells her about the skinny Afghan children running through the streets with the old, worn out makeshift soccer balls held together with tape. And the kids are always two extremes; they either waved excitedly and gave them thumbs up and run beside the truck, trying to get a look at the cool American soldiers or they threw rocks, shit, whatever they could get their hands on and screamed obscenities as her convoy drives by.

Jane frowns and exits out of the internet browser before clicking on Skype to bring up her contact list.  She stretches her arms and cracks her neck. She shifts; trying to get circulation back in her foot, and checks her watch. 2127. Boston being 8 hours and 30 minutes ahead, it should be Maura’s lunch break soon.

Almost on cue, a little window pops up on the laptop screen with the words, “Maura Isles calling”. Jane doesn’t hesitate and immediately clicks accept.

The laptop is old and the fan kind of gives a loud screeching noise as it attempts to keep up, but it doesn’t matter as soon as Jane sees the perfectly coiffed hair and dimpled face of her always impeccably dressed girlfriend.

“Maur – can you hear me?” It’s been weeks since Jane had some personal time to actually be able to get to her laptop. After each consecutive mission outside of the wire, Jane only had the time to occasionally shower and dive right into bed, completely exhausted.

“Jane? Jane— hello?” Jane hears her voice, but Maura’s figure is frozen on the screen, the laptop lagging behind. It didn’t help that the Afghan wifi was shit and beyond expensive. But Jane was thankful that it at least existed.

“Hey, I can hear you, can you hear me?”

“Yes, I can!” The image of Maura starts moving, slowly, but Jane can see the broad smile on Maura’s face.

Jane feels her own smile growing. “Twenty-seven more day, babe. I miss you.”

“I miss you as well, Jane,” Maura replies, her smile soft. She leans forward instinctively, almost as if she believed she could reach out and touch Jane if she’d tried. “It’s always odd seeing you with your hair up like that.”

Jane chuckles and reaches up to feel the bun on the back of her head. Most days she’ll just sleep with her hair in the bun just in case the squad gets called on in the middle of the night for a mission. It was uncomfortable, but it was quicker. “Well, if there’s one thing you can count on in Afghanistan, it’s Sergeant Major running around and yelling at us to ‘uphold them there goddamn groomin’ standards’ in a middle of a war.”

Laughing, Maura shakes her head and admonishes Jane for her language. Jane just good-naturedly rolls her eyes and listens to Maura go on about how profanity increases electrical conductance across the skin or something or the other. It doesn’t really matter what Maura is saying because all Jane needs to hear is the sound of her voice to let the stress of the day wash away. On the days that Jane has to go and sit down behind the latrines when her emotions get out of control and her hands won’t stop shaking long enough for her to tie her boot laces, she closes her eyes and tries to imagine Maura’s voice in her ear, whispering everything’s going to be okay, she’s right there. 

“Jane? Are you okay? Jane, come back to me.”

Even through the pixelated video on the screen, Jane can clearly see the worry on Maura’s face. Guilt flushes through Jane’s body. That feeling always seems to find her whenever she sees how anxious and afraid Maura becomes when Jane has one of her episodes.

Jane forces a smile on her face, which comes out more of a grimace, and Maura sees that. “I’m fine, Maur, I just – I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Maura opens her mouth, as if to call Jane out on her lie, but seems to decide that it was a battle for another day. ‘Battle’ being the key word.

Running her hand over her face, Jane tries to divert the conversation by asking about Maura’s day but before she can start, the couple is interrupted by Grant barging into Jane’s quarters.

“Jesus, can’t I get any privacy around here?” Jane glowers at NCO front of her, willing him to go away just long enough until Maura’s lunch break ends. But in reality, she knew that Grant only came looking for her when the situation was important and needed all the team leaders.

Everyone knows that Sergeant Rizzoli talks to her girlfriend at the same exact time every night whenever she didn’t have mission. Some soldiers joke that they could set the time by her. Grant actually seems remorseful as he explains the situation.

“Some Czechoslovakian soldiers ran over an Afghan girl on their way to ISAF headquarters. They’re freaking the fuck out and command wants us to roll out and deal with it. There are a shit ton of angry Afghans.”

Jane swears loudly and turns to her laptop to give Maura an apologetic look. On the screen, Maura sighs audibly and nods. “I love you, Jane. Be safe, please. We need to talk about you-know-what next time.”

“I’ll try. I love you, too.” Jane hopes Maura doesn’t notice that she didn’t mention talking about Frost, but she knows that Maura has always been the more perceptive one.

Jane waits until Maura exits the video chat before she turns to Grant, who is already halfway out the door shouting for the rest of the squad to get their lazy asses up and ready to go in 15. This mission is probably going to last through the night until God knows when. Jane had planned on catching some shuteye for a couple hours, but she knows that those couple hours would have been racked with night terrors so vivid she’d wake up hoarse in the morning.

She gives Grant a weak smile when he turns back to her. The next easiest thing to do was to keep busy.

“Alright, let’s mount up.”

* * *

 _“Ponder and deliberate before you make a move.”_ _  
―_ _Sun Tzu_ _,_ “The Art of War”


	3. Chapter 3

_Maura hears Jane before she sees her. The clunking of Jane’s boots on the hardwood floor is loud enough for it to echo into the kitchen where Maura’s preparing a simple dinner of baked chicken and salad. She knows that Jane’s unit would have only fed her lunch and Maura had made Jane promise to come home and have dinner with her instead of going out to the bar like she does every other weekend._

_Humming softly, Maura pretends she hasn’t heard her girlfriend walk in and continues mixing the garden salad. But the second she feels strong arms wrap around her waist and Jane place a kiss on the side of her head, Maura lets her mouth break out in a smile. Jane smells like a combination of cigarettes from hanging around the many smokers in her company and gasoline. It shouldn’t be arousing, but it is._

_“Smells good,” Practically purring, Jane places another kiss underneath Maura’s ear._

_“The chicken is almost ready, and –“, Maura gasps, her breath hitching when she feels one of Jane’s hands caressing her inner thigh. She turns around in Jane’s arms and tries to give her a stern look but fails when she sees the lust in the soldier’s face._

_“I wasn’t talking about the chicken, you know,” Jane’s eyes keep darting down to Maura’s lips. “The whole time I was driving home, I couldn’t stop thinking about how fucking gorgeous you would look sprawled out across the dining room table, your dress hitched up to your waist, and me slowly kissing my way up your body.”_

_There’s a slight pause before Maura lurches forward to capture Jane’s lips with her own, their noses bumping. Jane moans into the kiss and wastes no time hooking her hands beneath Maura’s thighs and lifting her onto the counter. Refusing to break the kiss, Jane’s hands wave blindly behind Maura to clear the surface before laying the blonde down and showing Maura exactly what had been going through her mind._

_\---_

_The fire alarm starts blaring twenty minutes later, startling them both._

_They look at each other, hair disheveled and the apartment smelling like burnt poultry, and they dissolve into giggles._

* * *

 

The deployment is a large, grey block of time that Maura needs to fill.

It’s a lot of waiting and worrying and trying to keep a smile on her face whenever Maura sees Jane’s face pop up on her laptop, the soldier always looking a little more haggard and distant and scratched up each time. It’s a lot of struggling not to worry every time she sees a news article online about another suicide bomber in Afghanistan or walking by a newsstand and seeing the loud bolded letters on a newspaper exclaiming about keeping more troops overseas.

She remembers Jane trying to calm her down on Skype one night after a particularly violent video online. She had been panic-stricken, babbling about how 1,771 service members had been killed since September 2013 and _there have been_ _nineteen thousand and two hundred fifty service members wounded since the beginning of this war, Jane! Do not tell me to calm down, NINETEEN THOUSAND._  

Maura learns that technology is a double-edged sword. On one hand, she can see Jane’s face and reassure herself that Jane is still alive and breathing and intact. She can listen to Jane complain because she’s _alive_ and Maura sometimes catches herself reaching out to the screen to smooth out the wrinkles  on  Jane’s forehead when she’s deep in concentration. On the other hand, technology gives her a brutal live-feed of improvised explosive devices detonating and camouflaged body parts lying on the ground next to unrecognizable bodies.

Maura realizes how agonizing the silence in communication is after a reported attack in Jane’s area. Maura discovers the feeling of goosebumps every time she hears the National Anthem at Red Sox games ( _we’re wasting seasons tickets if you don’t go Maur, just record them for me. Jane’s grin does her in and Jane knows it)_ , and Maura knows how it feels when the lump gathers in her throat and she struggles not to tear up.

The military does not ask for permission. The military does not ask a veteran’s spouse or significant other if they can take them and place them on the other side of the world, where there’s a good chance that the one they love will not come back. And if they do come back, they're never completely the same.

The night after Jane left, Maura had driven back mindlessly, her thoughts still on Jane and the way Jane had kissed her, desperate and hard, as if she was trying to burn the feeling and taste of Maura’s lips into her brain. Maura didn’t know how long they’d stood there holding onto each other, but she knows it wasn’t long enough and Maura had pulled Jane in for another kiss when she heard Jane’s unit calling for her.

Both faces had been free of any tears during the ceremony. They had spoken about it and both had agreed that there should be no waterworks, lest it made it harder. But the second she had returned to their apartment and had seen Jane’s dirty uniform in the hamper, Maura had broken down, sliding down the wall to clench the uniform top tightly to her chest. She’d woken up the next morning in her disheveled dress, all cried out and still clutching the blouse.

Her life becomes muted, almost like when you step off a plane and your ears haven’t adjusted to the elevation change; she hears people and the television and the kids playing in the streets but it’s muffled and constant and it envelops her life and routine. Maura checks the internet every morning for news about Afghanistan, despite Jane’s protestations, knowing it’ll just worry her. She does it anyways to always makes sure that Jane’s unit is left unscathed, at least for that day.

Maura learns to appreciate the messy scrawl of Jane’s handwriting on the carefully folded letters, and when Maura clutches these letters in her hand, it’s like she’s almost holding Jane’s hand again. Jane always writes, _I miss our life together_ , over and over again and in Maura’s mind, they have three different lives: Maura’s life without Jane, Jane’s in Afghanistan and the one life that used to include both of them, a distant memory almost but no longer present.

Grocery shopping seems to be a constant. She doesn’t enjoy having to only cook for herself and not have Jane over her shoulder every other minute, complaining about how healthy her meals are, but Maura takes pleasure in walking down the aisles and picking out things to put in care packages for Jane: beef jerky, gum and Twizzlers, magazines and books; all the things that end up being crushed and exposed to high temperatures on the way to Afghanistan, but Jane still devours each item because they remind her of Maura and home.

The first time she walks by the meat aisle, Maura cannot bring herself to pick up a piece of packaged meat because all she could think about was how a fresh human cadaver looked on her table, and she imagines Jane’s body, bones protruding, shrapnel  sticking out and dust clinging to her body, blood gathering in the sand. Maura calls the Dr. Pike’s office afterwards and takes a couple days off.

Every time the phone used to ring, Maura would jump. She wonders if it’s Jane calling or if it would be someone introducing themselves and saying they’re from the Army asking for her and apologizing and she won’t be able to listen anymore. Sometimes Maura hears the neighbor’s dogs bark and the distinctive sound of doors slamming and she can’t bring herself to go to the window to see who it is, just in case it’s people in uniform walking up her front steps and knocking on her door. And this one time, she’s getting out of her car and her heart stops when she sees two uniforms get out of a vehicle and she just stands there and stares and clutches her purse and thinks to herself _please no please not Jane, please please please_. Maura doesn’t know how to start her heart again when she sees them, and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever forgive herself for feeling relieved when they knock on a neighbor’s door.

Sometimes she wonders what it’d be like to live normally. Maura thinks about a normal life with Jane, a life where she only worries about ordinary things such as Jane forgetting to take Jo Friday out for a walk or skipping lunch to work on a case, not whether she might get shot or think about Jane crossing a street in Kabul and not making it to the other side. The anxiety gnaws at her and Maura carries it every day, on her shoulders and her mind.

She looks up support groups and seeks out information because she is Maura Isles and Maura Isles is never one to be ignorant about a subject. The support groups all tell her to keep busy, keep her routine and do her thing. They tell her, be realistic and don’t dwell, but don’t push away your emotions. It will be okay but sometimes you won’t be okay and that’s fine, just let it happen.

So Maura goes to work, she helps Dr. Pike with his cases, she goes to yoga every day and she makes friends, multiple times she gets drunk and gets angry and depressed and resolves to drink so much again, and she takes on watercolor painting classes and she goes out to lunch and she splurges on new dresses and spa days, and she Skypes with Jane and every time, she smiles so hard it hurts and every time she hangs up she cries, sometimes it’s just a couple tears, sometimes she sobs uncontrollably, but in the end, she’s okay.

That’s what she has to keep telling herself.

She’s okay.

 

* * *

 

_“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”_   
_― G.K. Chesterton_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned on only posting every 3 days, but I can't seem to hold onto these chapters for very long. I don't consider myself a very good writer, so if these are choppy, I apologize. 
> 
> I enjoy your feedback. Thanks for taking the time to read.

_Anyone who tells you that summer time in Afghanistan is Taliban fighting season is a fucking liar. There is no magical time when the Taliban come out and happen to shoot at coalition forces or decide to blow up a convoy. The fighting is constant and sometimes it’s not; there’s no allotted time slot, it’s not a reservation at a restaurant or calling to make an appointment at a dentist’s office._

_The platoon is continually told not to become complacent. Complacency kills. And complacency always kicks in the first couple weeks of the deployment because each soldier is trying to adjust to the change and then the last couple weeks before they go home because everyone’s so anxious to get home, they forget why they’re in Afghanistan in the first place. The platoon sergeant has given the speech so many times; Jane can recite it in her head. If shit goes down, nine times out of ten, it will happen in the first few weeks or the last. Don’t become complacent. Complacency kills._

_Their first firefight is on their day off._

_War is nothing like Jane pictured. In her mind, it’s endless firefights and continuous shooting, like in the movies. She expected explosions, people shouting and screaming and generally a shit ton of chaos._

_Granted, there was an explosion. One of the newer up-armored Humvees had been hit by an RPG just right outside their base and her squad had rushed out as the quick reaction force to meet up with them. As they rolled out of the gate and neared the downed Humvee, their convoy gets lit up by large caliber rounds from somewhere in the nearby villages._

_There’s no adrenaline rush in the world like being shot at._

_The rounds whizz by her vehicle and Jane’s whole body seizes up, because holy fucking shit they’re getting shot at, she’s getting shot at. Jane hears her Staff Sergeant Korsak’s voice, steady and almost bored sounding in her comms, ordering the squad to dismount and return fire. She gathers herself, she picks at the ounce of sanity swallowed by the fear and she whips her head around to Frost in the driver’s seat and yells at him to get the fuck out of the truck, get the fuck out, DISMOUNT and pull security. His eyes wide, Frost scrambles out of the vehicle, almost falling flat on his face, almost forgetting his weapon, his fingers fumble over his 249. Jane twists her body and yells up into the gunner’s turret and tells her gunner to cover them while they dismount. The second she hears her gunner’s .50 cal roll off a couple shots, she wrenches her door open and runs to the driver’s side, posting herself on top of the Humvee’s hood. Jane winces and ducks her head when she hears the ricochet bounce off the windshield of her vehicle._

_“Where is this motherfucker?” Her helmet is digging into her skull and she irritably adjusts it, squinting up at her gunner. Jane’s radio crackles and she hears direction of fire. Multiple insurgents, 200 meters at their 4 o’clock._

_She looks over at Frost, who still hasn’t moved from his spot, his back against the back tire of the Humvee, breathing heavily and leaning on his 249 as if gathering his courage to turn around and face the people shooting at him, people he may have shaken the hands of, people he could have hugged in greeting. A couple more shots snap over their heads and his whole body jerks forward. Jane reaches over and clasps his shoulder and tries to convey with her eyes, it’s okay, we’re still here, we can do this. He looks at her and something comes over his face, realization maybe? His fear’s still there but Jane sees him nod and they both turn and place their weapons on the Humvee and look down their sights._

_The whole squad has opened fire by now and Jane has never felt more afraid in her life. She vividly remembers the solid recoil of her rifle against her shoulder and the tinkling sound of her brass hitting the ground next to her. The smell of her freshly fired M4 and the sturdiness of the Humvee beneath her rifle. The thump that Jane imagines in her mind when her bullets hit their mark and the red blotch of blood that spreads across the enemy’s bright white clothing and how he just falls to the ground._

_She had never been so scared, but she’d never felt more alive in her life._

_It only lasted a couple minutes._

_Jane doesn’t speak all the whole drive back and she only spares a glance at Frost when they’re safely back on base. They both stare at each other and they look at their own hands and then their weapons and back at each other and she doesn’t remember who started first but eventually they’re both laughing and crying and hugging each other._

_Jane recalls feeling beyond exhilarated during the firefight, but as soon as it is over, her mouth is bone dry and she desperately needs to use the latrine. Her blouse is completely soaked through with her sweat and her hands won’t stop trembling._

_They say people shiver when they’re in excess of adrenaline._

_Her hands are still shaking hours later when Staff Sergeant Korsak comes by to check on her._

* * *

 

There’s kind of a stale stench that hits Jane when she walks into the hospital, almost similar to when you open the door to a closet that hasn’t seen the light of day in a long time. Jane grimaces and thinks about the dozens of people in this hospital and wonders if they ever get used to the stench and if they leave smelling like the hospital. She shakes the thought from her mind and holds the door open for the interpreter behind her and she smiles at him when he nods his thanks.

Haroon was the first linguist that Jane rolled out with when she started her missions eight months ago and she hasn’t trusted anyone else since the day he’d fiercely told off some Afghan National Police for leering and cat-calling her at a local police department. He’d surprised her by apologizing for their behavior afterwards, telling her that they may be his people, but they are not if they act like “the sons their mothers would be ashamed of”. Haroon always shows her pictures of his wife and child, candid photos, always in different outfits befitting a photo shoot and Jane shows him photo after photo of Maura and Jo Friday on her phone.

They were on one of the larger French bases in Afghanistan. It was actually the airfield their unit had flown in on and it just happened to be the nearest NATO hospital when the little Afghan had gotten run over.

When her squad had arrived at the scene, it was chaos. The Czechoslovakians were frantic, yelling at each other and into their radios and kneeling over the little girl’s body. Jane’s immediate thought was that the little girl was dead, but then she saw the tiny chest rise and Jane couldn’t help but let out a sharp breath of relief. A large crowd of Afghans had gathered around the area and Jane could hear Sergeant Korsak yelling at the ANP to keep the crowd back and under control as their medic assessed the situation.

The platoon’s medic was a skinny kid, maybe 20, 21 years old. Jane remembers him being really obnoxious and a braggart, but from her experience, he was knowledgeable and got serious real quick when it counted and really, that was all that mattered. She adjusts her rifle to the low ready position and watches the crowd, searching for any faces that might indicate hostile intent.

The medic calls out multiple rib fractures, a broken leg, possibly a concussion and a whole shit ton of medical jargon that Jane can only recall as “totally fucked up”. Her team ends up loading the Afghan girl into their truck and Jane distinctly remembers joking about this being the only way Frost could get a girl in his car, but the words die in her throat when she realizes that it isn’t Frost sitting next to her.  Her new driver looks at her curiously, but Jane just snaps her mouth shut and gruffly tells him to follow the lead truck to the nearest Afghan hospital.

The Afghan hospital is no help. They tell her, they can’t help her, they will keep her here but all they can give her is saline and nothing else. The Afghan doctors tell her, a child is not as important as a man; certainly not a female child, and that she will never walk again. Jane rips her sunglasses off her face and seizes the doctor by the front of his shirt, snarling at him, her anger and disbelief clearly showing on her face. Sergeant Korsak has to pull her back by her plate carrier, give her a stern look of warning, and tells her to walk it off outside. She storms back out to her truck and slams both her fists on the Humvee’s hood, breathing heavily. Korsak joins her a couple minutes later.

They work it out. They end up taking the girl and get her to the hospital Jane is currently standing in. She stares at the bed in front of her and watches the girl’s chest rise and fall slowly, but steadily. The French doctors had done well. The little girl would be walking; granted, with crutches, back into her home next month.

The girl stirs, instinctively feeling someone else’s presence in the room. When her eyes open, Jane smiles and lifts her hand to show the girl the bag of goodies she’s carrying.

“Chi tor hasti?” Jane’s Dari vocabulary is basic, but she knows the words for asking someone how they’re doing.

The child smiles and reaches for Jane’s empty hand, whispering something that makes Jane look at Haroon for a translation.

“She is tired, because the doctors keep waking her up to run tests, but she is happy to see you.”

The group converses for a little while, the little girl telling Jane about the past couple months. They break open the bags of chips and cartons of chocolate and share them amongst themselves.

Jane’s haji phone buzzes as she’s lifting a piece of chocolate to her mouth and she reads the text message from Korsak. _Suicide bomber near base, rtb in 15._

“Ask her if she needs or wants anything.” Jane speaks to Haroon, but she looks at the girl. Haroon translates and when he listens to the girl’s reply, he hesitates to tell Jane. She arches an eyebrow at him, willing him to go on.

“She says, ‘I am not in want of anything, but I am sorry for my blood spilling in your car.’”

Jane doesn’t know what to say so she just pats the child’s hand and shakes her head. This little girl gets run over by coalition forces and _she_ apologizes for bleeding in their vehicle?

It’s not right.

 

* * *

 

_“There are causes worth dying for, but none worth killing for.”_  
 _― Albert Camus_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter felt really choppy and it doesn't feel right, honestly. Apologies. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Next chapter’s Christmas, so I’ll post it on Christmas day.

_There’s nothing special about their high school’s computer lab. They’re just adjacent rows of chairs and piles of computers that still used Windows 98. No one ever came into the computer lab; everyone used the newspaper club’s room, which was filled with its new Apple desktops and newer technologies._

_Jane peers into the window of the computer lab door and tries to spot Frost, but it’s too dark. She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. She knows she told Ian and Maura she’d talk to him, but she had no idea what to say. Jane didn’t know anyone who was in the military, she didn’t know anything about the military period. All she knew was the videos she saw online and the headlines on the newspaper Frank Sr. reads during breakfast. And the news was never good._

_She pushes the door open and squints into the darkness for a second before deciding it was stupid and flipping on the lights. There’s movement out of the corner of her eye and Jane sees Frost lifting his head off one of the computer desks. The door softly clicks shut behind her._

_He doesn’t meet Jane’s eyes when she sits down next to him. In fact, he resolutely rests his head back down on the table, facing away from her. She picks at the arm of her chair, trying to think of something to say._

_“If you’re here to talk me out of it, I don’t want to hear it.” The sound of his voice is muffled by his arms, but Jane can hear the conviction in his voice. He sounds tired, and Jane realizes he’s already heard what she wants to say, that it’s dangerous, that he might not come back, that he could do better._

_Nevertheless, Jane swallows and opens her mouth. “If it’s about the money, I can help. I’ve been working at the shop and you know I’m going to the academy after we graduate, it’s not a big –“._

_“I don’t care about the MONEY!” Jane jerks back, surprised by his ferocity. Frost rarely, if ever, raises his voice and Jane has to suppress her disbelief as his voice fills the room. “It’s not about the money. If I cared, I’d go to law school or become a doctor or something and then I’d never have to worry about paying for my kid’s education.”_

_His eyes blaze with something Jane has never seen before, something close to remorse and guilt disguised by anger._

_“I’ve always been told, go to school, get good grades, go get an education, go to college, go get a good office job that pays well and then get married, and then what? I get married, have kids and then I tell my kids to do the same exact thing? For what? I don’t WANT to go to BCU, I don’t want to fall into that pattern. Everyone’s been telling me to do things ever since I’ve been little and even when they tell us to choose a job that we love, they’re STILL telling me what to do, they tell us, no don’t become an artist, there’s no money, you’ll get nowhere, so they’re really telling us do what you want but don’t do it if it doesn’t make you money or isn’t socially accepted.”_

_Tense, Jane stares at Frost, her eyes wide. His chest is heaving, but Frost is looking at her like he’s trying to make her understand something he’s been thinking about for so long and he’s trying to show her all his thoughts at once._

_“I don’t want to do that. I want to do something for me for once. I want to be someone that I can be proud of and that my dad can be proud of.”_

_And there it was. Jane realized what the whole thing was about. Frost’s father had been killed in Iraq, his platoon attacked and blown up by the very village they had given humanitarian aid to._

_“Barry, your dad would be so proud of you.” Jane fiercely responds. She leans forward and clasps his hand tightly between her own. “He would be so proud that you got into BCU.”_

_He pries his hands out of Jane’s grasp, shaking his head. “Everyone says that, Jane. Everyone. But no one knows that, and I don’t know that. I made up my mind.”_

_There’s a pause as Frost breathes and composes himself. He presses his hands against his eye sockets and gives a shuddering breath. Jane fidgets and wipes her sweaty palms on her jeans, because this is too sudden and she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say and –_

_“Let me join with you,” She blurts out. Her stomach churns and Jane knows that she can’t take her words back, but this is Frost, this is the guy she’s grown up with for her whole life and she can’t let him do this alone._

_This time it’s Frost’s turn to look stunned. “W-what?”_

_“I’m going to join, too.” Jane corrects herself. She quickly continues as she sees Frost open his mouth to protest, his seemingly self-sacrificing spiel forgotten now. “You’re my best friend, Frost. How the hell am I going to let you do something this stupid without me there to keep you out of trouble?”_

_Jane drives on with a confidence she doesn’t actually feel, but now that she sees Frost is listening, she might as well go for it. “The army, it’s like an upgraded version of the police academy, right? So it should be cake. Yeah, I’m pissed that you didn’t come tell me because we’re best fucking friends, but it’s my job as your best friend to support you and I’m going to do just that but I’m not going to do it from the sidelines. I’m going to be right next to you, like I’ve been for the past 18 years.”_

_She’s trying to say all this with a straight face, like she’s not fucking scared out of her mind and she’s trying not to wince at the thought of Ma, Pa, Frankie, Tommy all yelling and screaming and crying and Maura oh god Maura, how was she going to tell them?_

_Halfway through her little speech, Frost’s eyes tear up, to Jane’s embarrassment, and she has to look away, her unease bubbling up in her throat._

_She clears her throat and stands up from her chair. “Just uh, let me know when you go to the recruiter’s office so I can come with you, okay?”_

_He nods, his eyes watery and now his nose is running and he runs a sleeve across his face. Jane turns and walks toward the door, opening it, but not making a move to leave. She looks back at her best friend. He’s holding his face in his hands and his body is shaking like he’s trying to hold in his emotions, but it’s no use._

_Jane can still hear his muffled sobs through the door as she walks away. She isn’t sure if she wants to cry as well._

_But she knows she's doing the right thing._

* * *

They try to give the soldiers Sundays off. It’s a funny thing; war. With some people, they find religion in the middle of war. They find a higher power to believe in, and they immerse themselves in it because with the things they’ve seen, it’s hard not to try to believe in something. Something bigger, something good, something to place their belief, hopes and dreams in.

Other people denounce religion even more so, having seen horrors and nightmares that make them swear off the religion they’d grown up with, because if God was good and all-powerful, how could He let people die in such agony and people live with such scars and disabilities?

Jane sometimes wishes she believed in a higher power.

She’s sitting in the back of the little building that most people have deemed the church. The only reason she comes is because most people avoid the church and it’s almost always empty. She could usually count on catching a couple minutes of shut eye without anyone to bother her.

The church isn’t much; a couple rows of pews and a stand at the front, with a baby grand piano donated from who knows where. There are no artwork or religious artifacts because the church and chaplains have to cater to every type of religion and there’s only this tiny building. There are only a couple of people, mostly soldiers, sometimes a civilian or two, praying fervently to themselves. The chaplain, a baby-faced captain, walks around, greeting each soldier with a smile and a handshake. Jane sees him turn her way and she quickly closes her eyes, pretending to pray and hoping he doesn’t stop to speak to her.

When she feels a very solid presence stop next to her, Jane groans inwardly and pops an eye open, smiling too widely for it to be genuine. “Good morning, sir.”

The chaplain smiles in return. “Sergeant Rizzoli. It’s so nice for you to join us this morning.”

“Ah, well, you know sir, just taking a break from killing godless heathens in your name to cleanse myself of my sins.” Jane resists the urge to smile as she sees his brow furrow, trying to decide whether Jane’s being serious. “Anyways, I should get going, lots to do.”

She’s almost to the door when she feels a light touch at her elbow. Swallowing a groan, Jane turns around and faces the chaplain.

“Sergeant, I’ve, ah, heard that you’ve had a lot of problems recently?” The officer speaks haltingly, as if he’s trying to choose his words carefully. He clears his throat, gathering his courage. “Regarding nightmares and panic episodes.”

“Sir, you must have the wrong person. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to prepare for mission tomorrow.” Jane narrows her eyes. Who the fuck has been going around talking about her business? She’s been careful to keep her symptoms under control and out of sight.

The captain hurriedly blurts out the rest of his sentence as he watches her walk to the entrance. “You know you can always come to me about these things, Sergeant. I know what you’re going through.”

She has her hand on the doorknob, about to escape, but at these words, Jane slowly turns back towards the captain, a murderous look on her face. She closes the distance between herself and the captain in two heavy strides, her boots loud, and stops directly in front of him, her breath slightly ruffling his hair. Jane leans down and glances over him before she speaks, her eyes cold and distant.

“With all due respect, **_sir_** , you have no _fucking_ clue what I’m going through. The only way you will _ever_ know how I feel or what I’ve been through is to pick up a weapon and actually go outside the wire and experience what I have. That empty patch on your right arm tells me this is your first deployment and that disgustingly clean uniform tells me you’ve never even left the comfort of this camp. You will only know what I’m going through when you’ve seen your friends bleed out next to you and you’ve held them in your arms and felt the life leave their bodies. You will only understand when you’re walking through a street of dead bodies after a firefight with villagers who might have smiled at you and hugged you just the other day. Until you kill another human being for survival, there is nothing you could possibly say about it. You cannot _imagine_ what I’m going through when I close my eyes and every time I open my eyes, knowing I’m still in this god forsaken country. Don’t **_ever_** tell me you understand.”

Jane is blind with fury, her hands balled up, itching to grab this man, this _boy_ , in front of her and shake some goddamn sense into him. Everyone in the church is staring, Jane can feel their eyes on them, but no one moves. The chaplain gapes, his mouth opening and closing, but no words ever come out.

She watches the different expressions flicker on his face and sneers, no longer bothering to hide her contempt.

“Enjoy your day, sir.” Jane turns and walks out.

 

* * *

 

 _“Older men declare war. But it is youth that must fight and die.”_ _  
― Herbert Hoover_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of short, but Merry Christmas from Afghanistan!

_The first year Jane enlists, she misses Thanksgiving and Christmas because she has five straight months of Basic Training and Advanced Individual Training. Jane spends those days training, getting yelled at, doing PT, and dreaming of her Ma’s cooking and Maura._

_Her second year of enlistment, Jane misses the holidays again because the day she gets to her unit, they throw her into pre-deployment training; training they’d started six months before she’d even arrived. They start their 12 month deployment to Afghanistan in July. It’s Jane’s first deployment and she’s awfully homesick and she spends most of it looking at pictures of Maura that she’s taped to the inside of her helmet when she’s off mission._

_Jane’s third year is thankfully spent back in the States, her first tour over and done with, and she rolls her eyes because her team leader tells her, you’ll come back a little different, but you’ll be fine. She doesn’t feel any different, just older and constantly tired. During the coming home ceremony, Frost asks her what she’s doing for the holidays and Jane pretends not to hear him because she’s too busy kissing Maura for the first time for a really long time._

_They end up inviting Frost over for Christmas dinner and he brings eggnog and he blushingly introduces them to his girlfriend. Jane doesn’t remember her name; actually she doesn’t remember much of that Christmas except the sounds of Maura’s moans swallowed by her mouth and Maura’s silhouette against the fireplace as she comes apart, trembling, in Jane’s hands._

_Maura informs everyone who asks (and some who don’t) that it was a very successful Christmas and she looks adoringly at Jane every time. If Jane could remember, she’s sure she’d agree, so Jane nods and laughs and agrees._

_She doesn’t tell anyone about the memory lapses, because she’s supposed to be okay, right?_

_As luck would have it, her fourth year in the military is spent overseas again._

 

* * *

 

Someone’s blasting Christmas music in their room and she can hear it through the ridiculously thin walls of her barracks. It’s not the quiet nostalgic Christmas songs she’s been hearing the past couple days (weeks for some), it’s more of a really obscene metal/rock/scream version of what sounds like ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’.

Jane groans and rolls over on her stomach, her arm dangling over the side, blindly searching for something to throw at the far wall. She manages to find one of her boots and flings it as hard as she can. It thumps against the wall and Jane lays on her cot and waits, listening for movement.

The music ebbs slowly, and Jane hears the shuffling of feet. Jane digs herself further into her sleeping bag, satisfied that they learned their lesson.

So when she hears the collective screech of “MERRY CHRISTMAS, SAR’NT!” outside her door, Jane completely flips out of her bed, and ends up sprawled out across the floor, her limbs still tangled in her sleeping bag and the most vulgar swear words she can think of streaming out her mouth.

But even with her new bruises, she can’t help but chuckle with the soldiers cackling outside her door.

“Merry Christmas, you fuckers!” Her response makes the soldiers hoot even louder before noisily stomping off.

She opts for a shower to start off Christmas morning. The water’s lukewarm, as usual, but she stays under the weak spray just a bit longer than usual because it gives her some time to fully wake up. Jane carefully scrubs the dried sweat and grime off her body, relishing the feeling of semi-cleanliness when she washes it away. Jane breathes in the scent of lavender body wash that Maura had thoughtfully sent her so she wouldn’t have to use the bars of soap the free PX gave out.

The smell of the body wash brings back memories of Maura, gloriously naked and wet in their apartment shower, pretending to ignore Jane and washing her body slowly, taking her time between her breasts and around her thighs. Jane thinks of Maura coyly looking back at her through her eyelashes and grinning invitingly. Biting her lip, Jane slips a hand almost unconsciously between her thighs, careful and quiet, and closes her eyes. A couple moments later with her forehead against the cold tile of the shower, she utters her release with a soft moan, the image of Maura’s suggestive smile still in her mind.

Later, when she gets dressed, uniform fresh and hair in a somewhat decent bun, she finds a package outside her door, just a little bag full of candy and snacks, and Jane smiles because even in the heart of a deployment where everyone is away from home and missing their family and friends, people still manage to find the spirit to leave little gifts around for strangers. Jane makes a mental note to ask around about who left the gift and to thank them in person.

Her walk to the chow hall is freezing, despite the sun beaming down on the camp. The DFAC is small, but the workers must have stayed up all night to decorate it. One side is completely blocked off with tables stacked with desserts and sweets and Jane arches an eyebrow at the life-size sleigh and creepy plastic Santa Claus sitting in the middle. There are mini Christmas trees and stockings everywhere and the Australians seem to have taken it in stride because most of them are dressed up in reindeer costumes and running around taking pictures.

Christmas chow is literally all day, and Jane has to shake her head because where the hell do they get all this turkey? She can just imagine all the leftover turkey-related meals they’ll have for the next couple days. All the high-ranking officers are cheerfully serving everyone who comes in the doors and Jane has to grimace when she sees the amount of food they pile on the plates. She’s definitely going to regret eating so much, but she knows she’s going to enjoy every last bit of it. The amount of people in the chow hall makes Jane uncomfortably claustrophobic, so she opts to eat the meal outside.

It’s chilly, and halfway through she gets a mouthful of sand mashed potatoes, so she kind of regrets eating outdoors. There’s also a huge line of people waiting to go inside the chow hall and they all end up just side-eyeing her meal. Several times, soldiers pass by and stop to shake her hand and wish her a Merry Christmas, their smiles genuinely happy, because it may be Christmas and they’re away from their family, but they’re alive and they’ve got a second family right where they’re at. Jane always smiles broadly back because she knows it’s hard and they’re getting through it as well as they can.

The platoon sergeant walks by with the lieutenant and invites her to come inside to have dinner chow with the platoon, but Jane respectfully declines, thanking them profusely. She knows she won’t be able to stand the large group of people and their incessant chatter. It may be Christmas, but she’d rather be back in her room, talking to Maura.

As she walks back to her barracks, she sees a crowd of bodies in front of her room. They’re all huddled together, evidently writing something on the door.

“If you clusterfucks don’t step away from my door, I will make sure none of you make it through PT tomorrow morning without puking up your entire Christmas dinner and after that, I’ll PT you some more until your body starts trying to puke your Christmas lunch, too,” Jane growls loudly as she stalks towards them, making sure to keep her face hard and unreadable.

The four soldiers in front of her spin around so quickly, she’s afraid they’ll get whiplash. One of them even kind of slips on the floor trying to turn around too quickly. They all speak over each other.

“Uh Sar’nt, it ain’t what you’re thinkin’ – “

“We were just going to –“

“Sergeant, they TOLD me you wouldn’t be here –“

“Aw jeez, Sar’nt, we weren’t doin’ nothin’ – “

She holds up her hand, and they all fall silent and into the position of parade rest, waiting for her to chew their asses out, their faces guilty. Jane eyes them for a couple minutes, just to see them squirm uncomfortably under her gaze. A soldier peeks out of her room to look down the hall at them, but quickly ducks her head back in when she sees the four soldiers at parade rest. During a deployment, people rarely stood at parade rest unless they were speaking to a Sergeant Major or they were in deep shit and getting disciplined. Neither were optimal situations.

When she decides they’ve been tortured enough, she lets the grin take over her face and chuckling, she tells them, “Get the hell out of here and stay the fuck out of trouble.”

The look of relief and surprise on their faces is a pretty damn good Christmas present, Jane muses to herself, as they scamper away somewhat sheepishly. They manage to yell out a ‘Merry Christmas’ before they scramble out the door, pushing and shoving each other.

Jane turns to her door and groans when she sees what they left behind.

There’s a poster of Santa in his sleigh with all his reindeers, but Santa’s face has been plastered over by a cutout of Jane’s and all the reindeer’s faces had been replaced by her lower enlisted soldiers, all making bizarre, awkward expressions. Large messy writing reads, “Merry Christmas, SGT Roly-Poly!” and all around it were little messages.

Jane silently curses Sergeant Korsak in her head and vows to kick his ass for giving her that call sign.

Maura’s going to have a field day when Jane calls her.

 

* * *

 

 _“The wise warrior avoids the battle.”_ _  
― Sun Tzu_ , “The Art of War”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> US Embassy in the Green Zone was hit by a couple RPGs on Christmas, but no one hurt. We had a VBIED about a klick outside of our camp today; 3 service members dead, 6 Afghans wounded. That was fun to respond to.
> 
> Hope everyone’s Christmas was decent.

_**OATH OF ENLISTMENT:** _

_I, (NAME), do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God._

_**THE SOLDIER’S CREED:** _

_I am an American Soldier._  
 _I am a Warrior and a member of a team. I serve the people of the United States and live the Army Values._  
  
 _I will always place the mission first._  
 _I will never accept defeat._  
 _I will never quit._  
 _I will never leave a fallen comrade._  
  
 _I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough, trained and proficient in my warrior tasks and drills. I always maintain my arms, my equipment and myself._  
 _I am an expert and I am a professional._  
 _I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy the enemies of the United States of America in close combat._  
 _I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life._  
 _I am an American Soldier._

_**THE NCO CREED:** _

_No one is more professional than I. I am a noncommissioned officer, a leader of Soldiers. As a noncommissioned officer, I realize that I am a member of a time honored corps, which is known as "The Backbone of the Army". I am proud of the Corps of noncommissioned officers and will at all times conduct myself so as to bring credit upon the Corps, the military service and my country regardless of the situation in which I find myself. I will not use my grade or position to attain pleasure, profit, or personal safety._

_Competence is my watchword. My two basic responsibilities will always be uppermost in my mind—accomplishment of my mission and the welfare of my Soldiers. I will strive to remain technically and tactically proficient. I am aware of my role as a noncommissioned officer. I will fulfill my responsibilities inherent in that role. All Soldiers are entitled to outstanding leadership; I will provide that leadership. I know my Soldiers and I will always place their needs above my own. I will communicate consistently with my Soldiers and never leave them uninformed. I will be fair and impartial when recommending both rewards and punishment._

_Officers of my unit will have maximum time to accomplish their duties; they will not have to accomplish mine. I will earn their respect and confidence as well as that of my Soldiers. I will be loyal to those with whom I serve; seniors, peers, and subordinates alike. I will exercise initiative by taking appropriate action in the absence of orders. I will not compromise my integrity, nor my moral courage. I will not forget, nor will I allow my comrades to forget that we are professionals, noncommissioned officers, leaders!_

 

* * *

 

Without war, Afghanistan has the potential to be one of the most beautiful places in the world. But it’s being stricken apart by something that seems unfixable.

Jane sometimes wakes up to the pitter-patter of rain on the windows of her barracks and she lays there in her cot and listens quietly, afraid go back to sleep in case it stops. She closes her eyes and lets the sound wash over her, imagining that she’s at home with Maura curled up against her on the couch, watching whatever documentary Maura had excitedly popped into the DVD player. Jane imagines falling asleep with the tickle of Maura’s hair at her cheek and Jo Friday at her feet and only feeling content and unburdened.

On a normal day in Kabul, the city is surrounded by fumes, the result of locals burning tires, trash, and dung, usually obtained from their herds, because it’s cheaper than buying wood chips or logs. The cloud of pollution and dust that hovers above Kabul can be clearly seen from the outskirts of the city.

But after even a light sprinkle of rain, the smog seems to somewhat clear and Jane can walk outside of her barracks and look just to her left to see the smog-enhanced (weirdly beautiful) sunset give way to Afghanistan’s snow-capped mountains towering over their base and Jane just has to stop and stare because the sight is so rare, it leaves her breathless and feeling overwhelmingly nostalgic.

 

* * *

 

Recently, the missions have only been advisory. The sole purpose of American troops being in Afghanistan at this point in time is to teach the Afghan National Army and the Afghan National Police how to function on their own without coalition forces doing the brunt of the work. If a bomb detonates in the city, the Afghans respond to it and only contact the coalition forces if they need additional help.

Jane’s team is currently standing at one of the many checkpoints in the middle of a traffic circle. This particular one belongs to a police department just down the street; therefore, SSG Korsak only sends her team of three and Haroon to speak with the officer in charge of the checkpoint. They’d been here a few times before because the chief of the police department hadn’t been present the last couple times. When Jane arrives at the checkpoint, she notices that it is manned only by three ANP; an officer and two soldiers. The soldiers are standing out in the roads they’ve blocked off with cones, peering into cars and trucks that drive by and occasionally stopping them to search the vehicles.

Jane greets the officer that steps out of the tiny building in the middle of the road. “Sob bakhair, chi tor hasti?”

The officer returns her greeting and shakes her hand but hugs Haroon like he’s welcoming a brother and rattles something off, directed towards the linguist.

Haroon glances at Jane and smiles apologetically, “He is an old friend from the ANP Academy.”

Jane shrugs, knowing Haroon had many friends in the ANP when he had been a police officer. That was one of the many reasons why Haroon was highly requested by members in the unit. “That’s fine, just make sure you give him the spiel and we’ll get out of here. I’m going to check things out.”

Haroon nods his understanding and turns back to his friend, chattering animatedly. Jane gestures for her team to stay with Haroon and they nod. They’ve all done this so many times, it’s second nature at this point.

Surveying the area, Jane takes in the Afghan soldiers working the road, and walks towards the one nearest to her, almost directly in the middle of the traffic circle. She exclaims her greeting and shakes his offered hand, but she doesn’t say anything else. She just steps back and watches him as he goes on about his business. He stops several cars in a row, mainly because Jane’s watching and he wants to give off the impression that he’s doing his job. Jane smirks when one of the drivers gets out and hugs the soldier. It seemed like everyone in Afghanistan either knew each other or was related.

Jane watches the soldier search through a couple more cars and jingle trucks before she nods and gives him a smile and a pat on the back. He grins back at her. Jane holds out her hand again for him to shake and he takes it vigorously, proud of himself for getting her approval.

They’re too distracted to notice the car careening towards the checkpoint.

If you were to ask Jane later, she’d tell you, she remembers catching a glimpse of the car out of the corner of her eye. She remembers the back end of the car riding pretty low to the ground, as if there was something weighing it down. 

She remembers the young, clean-shaven face of the driver, frightened, as if he had been coerced into doing it, instead of having proudly volunteered to sacrifice himself for the cause. She remembers wondering how many Afghans and their family members have been threatened by the Taliban into hurting coalition forces. Jane remembers briefly feeling sorrowful for the driver and then she catches a glimpse of the oil drum in the backseat.

The VBIED explodes maybe a good 10 feet away, but the heat and pain that sears through her body makes it feel like the car was only inches from her. Jane doesn't remember exactly but she does remember seeing red, grey, and then black.

The silence is overwhelming. There’s no screaming, there’s no yelling, but there’s a whole lot of nothing and her ears are ringing, Jane wonders if she’s just having another nightmare and that she’s about to wake up. When Jane opens her eyes, her head is pounding and her body aches and why is she so sticky, and Jane almost mistakes it for a hangover, and she hopes she isn’t laying in a pool of Jo Friday’s urine. She only sees black at first, and she panics, lifting her hands up to her eyes, but her vision slowly comes back and her body screams and spasms as she tries to haul her upper body off the ground.

Jane sits up and looks around and there’s too much smoke and sand and dust in the air but she still sees the lifeless body of the Afghan soldier next to her. His body is laying face down a couple feet away, his right hand still clenched in an imaginary handshake, and Jane instinctively knows that he’s dead. His back is smoking and Jane’s stomach lurches at the sudden image of steaks on a grill; chunks of his flesh had been torn out. They'll tell her afterwards that his body had shielded her from the majority of the impact and shrapnel since his back had been turned away from the VBIED and afterwards she'll weep silently in her room for another life lost under her watch.

There’s a painful hot throbbing at her throat that runs all the way down to her chest and when Jane can tear her eyes away from the body next to her to look down and assess her own body, she realizes that despite the protection the Afghan soldier had given her, she’d still been fragged by wayward shrapnel from the explosion. 

Something drips into Jane’s eyes _where are her sunglasses?_ and when she reaches up to drag her hand across her face, her palm comes away, thick with blood and grime. She stares at it, the blood mixed into the sand and shit and Jane has to choke back a hysterical laugh bubbling up in her throat. How did she survive this?

The stillness around her is shattered by shouts and Jane recognizes the voices of her squad, loud and frantic and familiar.

But just before Jane passes out, she glances down at the ground and wonders whether the canvas of blood around them is hers or the Afghan soldier’s or the suicide bomber’s.

She wonders if they’ll be able to tell.

God, she's fucking tired.

 

* * *

 

“ _Dad, how do soldiers killing each other solve the world's problems?”_ _  
―_ _Bill Watterson_ _,_ _Calvin and Hobbes: Sunday Pages 1985-1995_


	8. Chapter 8

**_What is Ready?_ **

_The ability to accomplish assigned tasks or missions through resilience, individual and collective team training, and leadership._

**_What is Resilient?_ **

_The mental, physical, emotional, and behavioral ability to face and cope with adversity, adapt to change, recover, learn and grow from setbacks._

**_What’s Different?_ **

_The Ready and Resilient Campaign integrates and synchronizes multiple efforts and programs to improve the readiness and resilience of the Army Family - Soldiers (Active Duty, Reserve, National Guard), Army Civilians and Families. Ready and Resilient creates a holistic, collaborative and coherent enterprise to increase individual and unit readiness and resilience. Ready and Resilient will build upon physical, emotional and psychological resilience in our Soldiers, Families and Civilians so they improve performance to deal with the rigors and challenges of a demanding profession._

**_Specifically, Ready and Resilient will..._ **

-          _Integrate resilience training as a key part of the Army's professional military education throughout a Soldier's career from induction through separation or retirement._

-          _Synchronize and integrate key Army programs to reduce or eliminate suicide and suicidal ideations; sexual harassment and sexual assault; bullying and hazing; substance abuse; domestic violence; and any stigma or barriers associated with seeking help._

-          _Develop improved methods to provide Leaders and Commanders timely and accurate information and metrics to aid them in better identifying "at risk" and "high-risk" Soldiers, enabling early intervention._

**_Why Is It Important?_ **

-          _A healthy mind and body are essential to individual and unit readiness_

-          _Resilience combines mental, emotional, and physical skills to generate optimal performance (i.e. readiness) - in combat, healing after injury, and in managing work and home life_

-          _Resilient individuals are better able to bounce back and overcome adversity by leveraging mental and emotional skills and behavior by seeking out training_

-          _Individual resilience can be built, maintained, and strengthened when viewed as an enduring concept and acquired through regular training_

 

* * *

 

When she wakes up in the Troop Medical Clinic, the medic tells her that she’s only been superficially wounded by the shrapnel from the VBIED, so they saw no need for her to be sent to Germany, or even to Bagram. He informs her of the dozens upon dozens of stitches on her chest and cautions her to be vigilant of any strain or movements that might cause the stitches to break. He carefully watches the way her hands flutter over the bandage on her chest and he nods when she tells him she didn’t want the pain medication they’re going to prescribe, her voice low, but firm. He rattles off numbers and dates and medical information that Jane knows she should be listening to, but all she can think about is how clean his uniform is and she wonders whether they had to cut her blouse off.

The next day, Jane walks back to her room with half her squad hovering nervously over her every step back to her barracks. She’s annoyed, because it’s not like she got her damn legs amputated. Later, she weeps in relief because she realizes how lucky she is to have survived with nothing but a scar. Jane gasps in pain with every sob and heave of her chest.

A day passes by and Jane removes the bandage in the latrine, slowly revealing the scarred mass that is her chest. Her skin is red and puffy around the stitches. Jane stares at her reflection in the mirror as she lightly traces her fingers over the rough skin, snaking from the base of her throat, over her collarbone, towards her left shoulder where the shrapnel had snuck past her body armor. Her eyes are dry, but her throat is as well. It’s another scar to her collection.

Five days pass. She stays up until 0400 just to make sure no one’s in the latrine and she’ll painstakingly cut off each of the 64 stitches with a pair of nail clippers and tweezers in front of the same mirror. The pain is predominantly a dull throbbing reminder at this point, and the scar feels stiff and tight over her skin, but it almost feels as if it was stretching, trying to take over her body.

Staff Sergeant Korsak finds her in her room two days after she removes them.

“Should you be up already, Rizzoli?”

Jane pauses in cleaning her weapon to look up at her squad leader standing in the doorway of her room. She gives him a ‘really, Sergeant?’ kind of look and he chuckles knowingly.

Korsak has his rifle in one hand and his cleaning kit in another. He gestures to the space next to her and Jane shrugs in response. She knows he’s going to sit down regardless, and she knows he’s going to want to talk. Jane just vigorously scrubs the star chamber of her rifle with a small wire bore brush and pretends to ignore him as he noisily gets situated next to her.

He casually begins field stripping his rifle, taking his time. He manages to get the spring out of his butt stock before he pauses and says something.

“Doc says the stitches can come out in 5 days.”

Jane scoffs and doesn’t bother looking up from her weapon. Korsak looks at her sharply, surveying her face, and his eyes darting down to the scar peeking out the collar of her shirt.

He lets out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. He should’ve guessed. “You already took them out.”

Jane shifts her legs slightly, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s not a question. She’s pretty sure he’ll get over it in a day or two. She imagines he’ll get a talking to from the platoon sergeant for not watching her while she heals, and since shit rolls downhill, she’ll probably get put on a shit detail and have to clean out some offices and connexes to get back in their good graces.

Korsak doesn’t ask her if it hurts, because he knows it does, but he won’t put Jane in the position of making herself seem weak in front of him. He doesn’t ask if she’s okay, because he knows one of the reasons why Jane hasn’t left her room in a week is because so many people have been asking if she’s okay, in so many words or less; usually accompanied with a pitying stare. Jane always makes sure to glare right back, her chin defiant and a snarl on her lips. She's not damaged goods. She can still do her goddamn job.

So they sit and they clean their weapons. Their breathing is quiet, and the occasional noise only comes from the clinking of their rifles against the ground, only slightly muffled by the dirty t-shirts lining the floor that Jane is using to prevent grime from collecting on their weapons while they clean. Jane’s pistol lies next to her feet, still fully assembled. Korsak sees it, but he doesn’t comment on it.

He clears his throat. “Captain Johnson went to First Sergeant to talk about you. He was _strongly_ insisting on an Article 89 –“

“Disrespect toward a superior commissioned officer,” Jane grunts, her face showing no sign of surprise. She sticks her pinky in her star chamber and wiggles it back and forth before lifting it back out to inspect it. Satisfied with the lack of carbon, she places it down and begins to disassemble the bolt carrier.  Firing pin retaining pin, firing pin, bolt cam pin, bolt, extractor pin, extractor. Unsurprisingly, there’s carbon residue clogged in the tiny bolt. She places two drops of lubricant on a cotton swab and starts cleaning.

It would’ve come up sooner or later. The second she’d left the church, Jane knew she was in deep shit. Most veteran officers, especially chaplains, wouldn’t have said anything to her superiors because they knew from experience that she was just speaking out of anger and a swirl of other emotions. But then again, most officers who’ve been deployed before wouldn’t have tried to speak about these things so casually in the open. Captain Johnson was fresh-faced and from the way he’d been carrying himself, he was one of those officers that wasn’t really offended by her language, but more by the disrespect she’d shown to his rank. He’d been publicly humiliated and this was his way of getting back at her and showing that he was her superior, even though it was just in rank.

“First Sergeant chewed his ass out,” Korsak says, his mouth quirking up in a small smile. This time, Jane is surprised, her hands stilling over her rifle, and she lifts her head to look at him curiously. “Privately in his office, of course. But when they came back out, the Article 89 had turned into a negative counseling.”

Her eyebrows arch into her hairline, but Jane can’t help the breath of relief that escapes her. First Sergeant definitely didn’t do it for her, he’s always been a “don’t mistake your rank for my authority” kind of NCO, but nevertheless, Jane is grateful. Getting an Article 89 could have likely ended her career in the military. She’d looked it up a couple days after she had blown up at him: maximum punishment was a bad-conduct discharge, forfeiture of all pay and allowances, and confinement for a year.

“This is your counseling. Don’t fucking do it again,” Korsak says warningly, his mouth a thin line.

Jane chews her bottom lip and guiltily looks down, rubbing her dirty hands on her uniform pants. He must’ve gotten a pretty bad talking to. “Roger, Sar’nt. It won’t happen again.”

“He might have been going about it the wrong way, but the captain was trying to help.”

Her hands stop at her knee and she grips the fabric tightly. “I don’t need help.”

Korsak is quiet for a couple seconds, but then he reaches down and picks up the firing pin from the pile of Jane’s parts. He looks at it, but Jane can tell he’s lost in a memory from the way he looks through the firing pin to the far wall instead of actually at it.

“When my old unit came back home from Iraq, one of the other team leaders in my squad tried to kill himself. I was just an E5 back then, just like you. But he was my friend. We’d gone to war together. When we’re out there in Baghdad, we didn’t fight for the President. We didn’t fight for the American flag. We fought to protect the people in our truck, our squad. We fought to protect each other. We sweat together, bled together. We shared water and food with soldiers who didn’t have chow, we’d swat flies for the guy sleeping next to us, we were ready and willing to go to war and die for each other. And my brother – he came home and he sat in his desk chair in his room, facing the door, and he put his M4 on the ground and stuck the barrel in his mouth. He’d written a suicide note and everything, saying how sorry he was and how the night terrors were too much and how he couldn’t get the faces out of his head. He just closed his eyes, and he pulled the trigger.”

Sergeant Korsak pauses for the words to sink in. Jane’s shoulders had tensed the minute he’d said ‘tried to kill himself’.

“His weapon clicked, but it didn’t fire. Being the good soldier he was, he took it down. He broke it down and when he got to the bolt carrier, he realized his firing pin was missing.”

At this point, Jane is staring at him, her weapons cleaning forgotten. No, she’s staring at the firing pin he’s still holding in his hand. It’s small, maybe the length of Korsak’s pointer finger, but she can hardly believe the difference it makes between life and death.

“I visited him the day before, and he showed all the signs. He seemed so…calm, almost cheerful. Like he’d come to terms with the fact that he was going to kill himself. I didn’t know it back then, but now that I think about it, it was obvious. No one becomes suddenly happy after constantly being so depressed. He even gave me his father’s flag. He’d carried it with him all deployment and he just gives away his most prized possession? He said goodbye with such finality in his eyes, I just had to make sure. So I took his firing pin out of his rifle when he went to use the latrine.”

Korsak rolls the firing between his forefinger and thumb one last time before reaching out to place it in Jane’s hand. He continues speaking.

“There’s such a stigma about post-traumatic stress disorder and getting help. Civilians are afraid of it. They think it means the person’s volatile, as if they’re a bomb set to go off, but no one knows when, not even the soldier affected. We’re not on the verge of violence. Other soldiers think, that means we’re weak if we get help. If I get help, everyone in the unit’s going to know and they won’t trust me anymore. They think, it’s just in my head, I can deal with it on my own. It’s not weak to ask someone else for help. The strength is in being strong enough to ask for help when you know you can’t do it alone. We’re not faking. PTSD is very real and our family is dying from it.”

They’ve never shared more than a couple words at a time because they’ve never needed to. There’s always been an understanding between them, that their intent was the same and no words needed to be exchanged. He cautiously glances at Jane’s face. Her mouth opens like she wants to say something, but she closes it again. Her face is scrunched up like she looks like she wants to laugh, but he sees the tears building in her eyes. He looks away and watches the alarm clock next to her bed, waiting for a response.

When she does speak, Jane’s voice is low and harsh and it cracks on the first couple words.

“I’m not that person. I’m not the crazy psycho with PTSD, who’s going to jump at every backfire of a car rolling down the street back home.”

Korsak’s not going to push. He waits. But he starts putting his rifle back together just so his hands have something to do. Just so he doesn’t get the urge to put his hands around Jane and comfort her. He knows she’d never forgive him. His hands waver when he hears Jane speak again.

“I don’t want to be that person,” Jane whispers, as if just by speaking the words, she’d transform into the monster she thinks she could be.

Korsak nods, running a hand through his shortly cropped hair. “After my first tour, my wife left me. She said I was completely different. She said I’d changed and she told me I needed help. There were some nights, I’d wake up to an empty bed because my own wife was too scared to sleep next to me. I never got help because I thought to myself,  I didn’t get wounded, I didn’t get blown up. I don’t need to be taking away resources from people who are actually hurt and in pain. I told myself, this is nothing compared to what they’re going through.”

It aches for him to get up because they’ve been sitting on the floor for so long and Korsak won’t ever admit it but he knows he’s getting too old for this. Jane stands up with him when he moves to her door to leave.

“I was completely wrong, Rizzoli. You need to do this for yourself and you need to do this for Maura. Believe me when I say there’s nothing you’ll regret more than losing the person you love because of your goddamn pride.”

Jane pads quietly over to the doorway and they both stand there. The hallway is strangely devoid of people. In her head, Jane throws up a silent thank you to whatever higher power there is that no one is there to witness this conversation.

“What happened to him – after?” Korsak searches her eyes, and finds nothing but curiosity and hope. He understands that she’s asking about the soldier who tried to kill himself.

Korsak replies simply, “He’s alive and he’s happy.”

As he walks away, Korsak looks back one last time to catch a glimpse of Jane. She’s still standing in the doorway of her room, staring at the firing pin in one hand and her other hand gently, unconsciously rubbing the new scar over her heart.

 

* * *

 

_“The soldier, above all others, prays for peace, for it is the soldier who must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war.”  
― _ _General Douglas MacArthur_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jane comes home next chapter. Stay tuned.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year.

_If Jane was being completely honest, she’d grudgingly admit that it wasn’t the right way for Maura to find out about the deployment._

_Frost had stopped by their apartment to pick up the fleece he’d left behind during drill one day and she leaves him chatting animatedly with Maura at the door as Jane tries to find where she’d thrown his coat. When she returns with coat in hand, Frost is still standing in the open doorway, but Maura’s nowhere in sight._

_Confused, Jane tosses Frost his coat. She opens her mouth, about to comment on his forgetfulness when she notices the panicked look on his face. “What’s –“_

_“I didn’t know you didn’t tell her yet!” Frost blurts out, wringing his hands into the coat. Jane’s bewildered for a couple seconds because there’s nothing she doesn’t tell Maura. But when she sees Frost look down at his fleece, she automatically understands._

_“Shit – Frost, you need to go.” Jane frantically ushers him out the door, almost tempted to physically remove him from the steps, while simultaneously trying to assure him that it wasn’t his fault for letting news of the deployment slip._

_Jane slams the door shut and sags against it, groaning. She brings a hand up to her forehead, already feeling the headache that’s going to result from the inevitable argument with Maura._

_She looks in the kitchen first, fervently hoping Maura’s not in there. Maura isn’t the violent type, but the kitchen holds all kinds of fancy weapons (not to mention knives) that Maura would have within arm’s reach (did she mention the knives?). Though, as she’s exiting the kitchen, Jane somehow stumbles over Bass, who’s slowly ambling his way into the kitchen._

_Steadying herself on the nearest wall, she directs a glare at the tortoise. Bass ignores her and continues on his way._

_Jane makes a face, grumbling. “Is everyone in this place mad at me?”_

_She checks all the bedrooms and even the patio in the back but she ends up finding Maura in the yoga room._

_“Hey…” Jane trails off, arching an eyebrow. Maura’s in a handstand, eyes closed, her back resting against the wall, her body supported by her forearms on the ground. At the sound of Jane’s voice, Maura’s brows furrow, having anticipated more time before Jane found her._

_Jane sits herself quietly at the edge of the mat, careful not to disturb her girlfriend. Should she say something? What is she supposed to say? ‘Hey, sorry I didn’t tell you I was going to war, I meant to tell you after I’d gotten you into a good mood and you weren’t liable to call up the Chief of Staff of the U.S. Army and demand that he release me from my military obligation?’ Jane grimaces at the thought of how that conversation would go._

_At the sound of an exhale of breath, Jane looks up from her tangled hands in her lap to see Maura slowly lowering herself from the handstand. Her feet hit the mat with a soft thud and Jane ends up with a view of Maura’s back. Maura, instead of turning around to face Jane, immediately launches into a speech._

_“_ _Regular yoga practice has been shown to increase brain gamma amino butyric acid levels and improve mood and anxiety more than some other metabolically matched exercises, such as walking. Studies of the effects of yoga on heart disease suggest that yoga may reduce high blood pressure, improve symptoms of heart failure, enhance cardiac rehabilitation, and lower cardiovascular risk factors. One study found that after seven weeks the group treated with yoga reported significantly less mood disturbance and reduced stress compared to the control group. “_

_Maura rattles all of this off without stopping to catch her breath, and Jane can’t say she’s shocked at all, but tries not to smile at Maura’s way of hiding her anxiety through her word vomit._

_“I was gonna tell you,” Jane quickly blurts out when she sees Maura take a deep breath, most likely getting ready for another spiel. “I honestly didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just didn’t want you to worry.”_

_Maura frowns at the wall because she was planning on being angry and frustrated at Jane for not telling her, but she can hear the sincerity and pleading in Jane’s voice and she can’t help but soften a little._

_Nevertheless, Maura’s still incensed so she huffs, “We agreed that we would communicate, Jane. We told ourselves that we would talk to each other about special circumstances regarding your military career.”_

_Maura’s completely shifted so she’s facing her girlfriend and Jane can see the tears already rolling down her face._

_“You wouldn’t talk to me, Jane. I was scared I was doing something wrong and every time I try to bring it up, you would just brush it off and say you’re okay. I can tell you’re not fine. And then I had to learn about your deployment through Barold? Why won’t you talk to me about it?”_

_Jane feels the guilt flush through her body because she knows she’s been treating Maura coldly the past few weeks. Every time Maura asks what’s wrong, Jane tells herself that Maura doesn’t need to know yet. She had yet to process the deployment in her own mind. She needed time to think about what was going to happen. She needed time to think about what to say, how to assure Maura that she was going to be okay, ways to protect Maura._

_Opening her arms almost apologetically, Jane gestures for Maura to come closer. There’s barely any hesitation from Maura as she maneuvers herself into Jane’s embrace. There’s a mutual relaxation in both their bodies as they hold each other._

_“I’m no good at talking about this kind of stuff, Maur. I don’t even know what I’m doing. It’s my first deployment and I’m tryin’ to get my head wrapped around the fact that I’m not gonna be able to hold you or kiss you awake every morning for the next year, but I’m also supposed to be gettin’ my head in the game and focus on gettin’ ready to go to war. What if I’m not strong enough? What if I’m not good enough? But I’ve been training for this for so long, it’s actually coming and it’s just…unreal.”_

_They both sit there for a couple minutes, with only the sounds of Maura’s sniffling filling the silence._

_“I’m sorry. I really am, Maur. I’m sorry I worried you. I’m sorry I kept it from you and I’m sorry I have to go. I don’t wanna have to go, but it’s my job and I’ve been trained for it. I’ll be there with Frost and all the other guys. Frost is my best friend and I’d never forgive myself if something happened to him and I wasn’t there,” Jane murmurs into Maura’s hair, clutching her closer and willing herself to memorize the smell of her girlfriend._

_Pulling back, Jane tries to give Maura a watery smile through her own tears. “The next couple weeks, we’re just gonna spend the time doin’ whatever you want. We can go to all the operas and art galleries you want and I won’t complain one bit. I promise.”_

_Maura laughs shakily, reaching up with a hand to wipe at the tear tracks on both their faces. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jane Clementine Rizzoli.”_

_She laughs even harder when Jane scrunches her nose up at the use of her middle name._

* * *

The Jane that walked into the tiny high school gym, face gaunt, shoulders hunched over, dark circles under her eyes and her uniform stiff with sweat, wasn’t the same woman that had almost swaggered confidently onto the bus just nine months before. Maura could have convinced herself that she was experiencing a case of déjà vu if it hadn’t been for the loud cheers that erupted from the stands when the soldiers had marched in.

Nevertheless, Maura would recognize Jane’s gait anywhere. She immediately spots her and finds the dark brown eyes searching the crowd for her. Maura gingerly lifts a hand in the air, unsure whether Jane would be able to find her amongst the crowd, but her worries are unjustified, because a second later, their gazes meet, and Maura’s breath hitches.

Jane just stares. Jane stares at Maura like she’s the lifeline and anchor to her existence.

And in that moment, Maura knows that, without a doubt, Jane was and always will be worth the wait.

Their connection is broken when the company commander calls the unit to attention. A balding colonel limps up to the podium in front of the unit and gives a speech about sacrifice, freedom and how America thanks the soldiers for their service, but Maura barely pays attention because she can see Jane’s chest rise and fall with each breath she takes.

The colonel finishes speaking and when he dismisses the formation, there’s a swarm of uniforms and women jumping into the arms of their husbands and boyfriends, there’s children screaming and yelling and hugging strangers who were supposed to be their parents and there’s fathers tearfully embracing their sons and daughters and the mothers lift shaking hands up to the faces of their children to touch them and reassure themselves that they’re really there. Veterans from previous generations walk around and hug and shake the hands of soldiers who don’t have family to welcome them home.

Maura tries to keep up a dignified appearance, to seem aloof, but all that washes away when she sees Jane’s form pushing her way through the crowd and Maura just can’t help herself when she collapses into Jane’s arms. Jane’s uniform smells like the dust and sand of Afghanistan and dried sweat and Maura knows that in her mind but even so, Maura imagines that this is what home would smell like.

 

* * *

 

On the drive back, Jane naps. She maneuvers so that her body is wrapped across the console and her head resting on Maura’s shoulder, and Maura smiles softly and lets her sleep. The whole drive home, Jane sleeps and Maura just tenderly combs a hand through Jane’s hair.

When they get home, Jane sleeps for fourteen hours and she wakes up the next morning ravenous. She gratefully chows down on the egg white omelet, oatmeal, and assortment of fruit that Maura places in front of her and Jane is constantly kissing whatever part of Maura comes near the kitchen table – her hip, a shoulder, her wrist – and Maura can’t help but caress some part of Jane every time she passes by.

In the following weeks, Jane mainly has classes she has to attend, army counseling, reintegration classes on how to get back into a civilian mindset and getting back to their significant others. Jane brings home a lot of pamphlets with titles like ‘What to Expect When Your Soldier Comes Home from Deployment’ and ‘The Road to Re-Integration’.

Maura flips through them occasionally, absentmindedly when Jane is at the unit taking the classes and she reads one directed towards the soldiers.

_Do not swear at your family members. They are not your soldiers and should not be treated as such. Do not expect to jump back into the routine that you had before you left. They have been taking care of the finances and have most likely adopted their own routine. Work with them in order to assure a smoother transition. Transition may take at least six weeks or longer. Make sure to be patient._

There’s a small paragraph on the back of the brochure that makes Maura blush. It would explain why Jane had not initiated anything in the bedroom recently.

_Psychologists recommend that soldiers do not immediately engage in sexual activities with your significant other. Take some time to reacquaint yourselves with each other and wait a few days until they show signs of responding. BE PATIENT!!!_

Later that night, Jane comes home with a large bag of Chinese take-out and a 2006 Yering Station pinot noir rosé (that she later confesses she’d had to ask the employee about).  Maura is delighted and to Jane’s amazement, opts to have dinner in the living room. They make eyes at each other as they sit on the floor of the living room eating their dinner and Jane shivers every time Maura deliberately grazes her thigh with her hand when she reaches for the spring rolls. Maura giggles when Jane violently rips open a packet of sweet and sour and spills it all over herself when Maura’s hand gets a little too close to her inner thigh.

Jane sheepishly excuses herself to change her clothes and is in the bathroom with her shirt hanging off an arm when she feels hands on her hips. She slowly turns around, dropping her stained shirt on the ground, and meets Maura with a kiss, Jane’s hand tangling in dirty blonde locks.

Jane kisses her with a surprising shyness, and for a second, Maura is disoriented, as if she was kissing a stranger’s mouth. But when Jane pulls her closer and slowly kisses her way down her throat, Maura relaxes into her embrace and allows her back in her life completely.

They make love in the shower, slow and deliberate, both taking the time to rediscover the other. There’s no rush and they use the time carefully, recognizing it as their own private homecoming and reunion. Afterwards, once their breathing has evened out, they both stand under the warm cascade of water, Jane resting against the cold tile of the shower, Maura’s head on Jane’s chest and they just hold each other.

Maura raises a hand and lightly runs it over the scar on Jane’s chest. She’d had to bite back a gasp when she caught a glimpse when they both had fully undressed. There is no feeling of disgust, just sadness and the urge to trace the scar with her mouth and hands over and over again, to feel Jane. The skin is marred from the base of Jane’s throat and it runs all the way to her left shoulder, over her heart and Maura bitterly thinks about how Jane’s protective vest had failed to do its job.

She doesn’t mean to voice it out loud, but Maura finds herself asking anyways.

“Did you see it coming?”

Jane doesn’t move for a few seconds, but after a little while, she idly opens her eyes and peers down at Maura.

“In the Army, we call it a suicide VBIED. It stands for –“

“Suicide vehicle borne improvised explosive device,” Maura finishes, her voice barely heard over the spray coming from the showerhead. She sounds hesitant, almost regretting her inability to keep information to herself at a time like this. Maura wishes she was blissfully ignorant.

Jane glances at her girlfriend; the corner of her mouth curls up into what could pass as a smile, but it quickly disappears. She reaches a hand up to brush away a wet curl from Maura’s forehead as she speaks.

“He was really close. I was distracted and he drove by so quickly, I didn’t have time to see him and by the time I noticed, he was maybe a couple feet from us. God, he was so close. If I’d been paying attention, if I hadn’t been complacent, I could have reached out and probably touched him. If I tried, I could have reached out and punched him, if I really wanted to. Afterwards, there was so much blood, you couldn’t tell what part was mine and which bits were the Afghan’s. It was so messed up.”

Jane’s lips twitch and she tries to smile as if she’d just told some sort of joke and Maura doesn’t know whether to awkwardly smile back at her or cry so she just splays her hands between Jane’s shoulders and kisses the damaged, puckered skin on Jane’s chest.

Standing there with Jane, talking about death and understanding how close Jane had been to dying, Maura wants to marry her.

 

* * *

 

_“Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.”  
― _ _Sun Tzu, ‘_ The Art of War _’_

 


	10. Chapter 10

_Frost dies without a sound._

_In movies, a death scene is accompanied by sad music, maybe some slow motion so the scene is drawn out for full effect. There’s time for the audience to grieve._

_Jane’s life is nothing like a movie._

_They’re standing in the road, pulling security and waiting for EOD to come by and check out a possible IED. Everyone’s spread out to ensure 360 security and they’re just bullshitting with each other while they wait._

_Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Frost open his mouth to say something and from the look on his face, Jane can tell he’s going to make some lame-ass joke, but his mouth opens and nothing comes out._

_His head jerks back and then slumps forward, resting on his chest. His body collapses on the ground just a couple feet away from her. A few seconds later, a storm of hostile fire rings out._

_Jane hears the others yelling for them to get down but Jane, all she can see is Frost on the ground, he’s not moving and she has this half-grin frozen on her face like she was preparing for his joke, but  -_

_Someone tackles her legs and she hits the ground hard, her breath completely knocked out of her. They yell at her, they’re yelling something and she turns her head to look at them and it’s Korsak with this look of pity in his eyes, but he yells at her to get her fucking shit together. He slaps Jane on the side of her helmet and low-crawls to the nearest soldier without giving her a backwards glance._

_Scrambling over to Frost, Jane lurches to her feet as quickly as she can and tries to fireman carry him to the nearest Humvee, knowing the rest of the squad will cover her ass with their fire. His SAW is slung around his body and it knocks against her kneepads with every step, and she grunts in pain. Jane can taste the blood dripping from Frost’s forehead into her mouth. She unconsciously licks her lips and tastes metal and carbon and CLP._

_Her shoulders and legs are aching with the extra weight by the time she reaches the Humvee and she tries to carefully place him down, but the corner of his vest catches on her pistol holster and she panics and drops him and his dead weight drags her to the ground with him. Jane gasps, stray strands of hair from her bun plastered to her neck, her head pounding, her blouse is soaked through. Gathering herself, she reaches out to untangle herself but stops when she sees Frost’s face._

_There’s a neat little hole in his forehead, a perfect circle. The exit wound on the back of his head is less organized, and Jane retches a little bit in her mouth at the sight of tissue, brain matter, pieces of his skull, a complete utter fucking mess._

_Jane calls for the medic until her voice is hoarse and she can taste the bile in the back of her throat, but she knows, she already knows that Frost is gone, but the first step is always always denial. Jane doesn’t cry because she can’t. She’s not there yet._

_But she just cradles his head and feels the sticky warmth of his blood on her hands and begs him to come back and tell her his joke and she promises she’ll laugh for him._

 

* * *

 

Maura wakes up to Jane flailing in bed, her arms swinging wildly at her legs tangled up in the bed sheets, apparently searching for something.

She doesn’t know whether to wake her up or to just let Jane tire herself out through her nightmare. Maura’s afraid that an elbow, an arm, a hand would land on her as Jane wrestles with the bed sheets.

“Jane? Jane, wake up,” Maura says gently.

Jane violently sits up, her hands clenching and unclenching, her eyes wild and searching the room and landing on Maura. She stares at her legs and lays both her shaking hands on top of the sheet.

Maura watches the beads of sweat roll down the side of Jane’s neck and resists the urge to reach out and wipe them away.

“Shit. I dreamed my legs were trapped under something,” Jane’s voice is gravelly and Maura has to strain to hear her, “I couldn’t find my rifle. Fuck.”

Maura hesitates, but then nods at the explanation and scoots a little closer. “Would you like some water?”

Jane shakes her head and just squints at Maura, as if she’s trying to remember who she is and for a split second, Maura thinks that Jane doesn’t recognize her.

But then Jane speaks, “I’ve been having more nightmares.”

Having read through so many of the pamphlets that Jane brought home, Maura immediately understands. She wasn’t sure about the specifics, but Maura knew that nightmares and night terrors were only the beginning, but she doesn’t say anything out loud because she knows Jane’s not finished. She watches Jane’s throat bob up and down, as if she’d trying to swallow the nightmares.

Jane lies back down and faces Maura and continues abruptly, speaking as though her nightmares escaped her throat and she couldn’t stop the words coming out of her mouth. Maura can see the red glow of their alarm clock in Jane’s eyes.  

“I keep seeing body parts. I keep seeing the bodies that we had to clean up and you wouldn’t believe it, Maura. It’s not like watching you perform an autopsy at all, because when you do it, it’s beautiful, it’s an art, but when I close my eyes, it’s seeing the bodies dirty and bloated and having to pick up bodies of people and kids and their body parts thrown everywhere.  There was a foot – a kid’s foot and it was so small, I could wrap my whole hand over it. The slipper was in a ditch a couple feet away.”

Then she takes a deep breath and rolls away from Maura.

Maura watches her, watches the muscles in Jane’s back until they relax and her breathing evens out and Maura puts a hand on Jane’s hip, sharp and bony, and edges closer. She moves until she’s curled around Jane and she tries not to cling too tightly but Maura needs to feel Jane, needs to feel her flesh, and she needs to know that Jane is here, next to her and whole.

 

* * *

 

Jane’s body isn’t accustomed to being back in the States. Her nose drips all the time and her hands would tremble so bad sometimes she wouldn’t bother wearing shirts that she has to button up, lest she makes a fool of herself and gets frustrated or worries Maura. Sometimes Maura finds her standing in kitchen, just staring into the open refrigerator because it’s been so long since she’s seen so many colorful foods and the bright colors are just strange to her.

It’s as if her body had become dependent on Afghanistan cold, and her 40 pound body armor and the pistol on her hip. She misses the weight of her helmet and the disgusting MREs and the sleep deprived nights full of the sound of thrumming helicopters and her smelly sleeping bag caked with sand and dirt.

They try to limit however much time they spend in the car.  The first time they drive anywhere, Jane panics, thinking that pieces of trash or debris on the side of the road are possible IEDs. When Maura drives, Jane grips her door handle tightly and every other minute she snarls about Maura not braking early enough or keeping enough distance between her and the car in front of them. Jane flinches every time a car flies by to pass them or cuts them off.

But when Jane drives, she drives too fast and constantly weaves in and out of traffic and she frightens Maura, who just sits in her seat and clutches at her seatbelt.

Maura resolves to drive only when they have to. Her nerves are shot to hell every time Jane drives or is even in the car with her. She realizes it’s about Jane not being in control of the situation that she can’t deal with and Maura tries not to hold it against her but she’s always unnerved.

Sometimes, Maura thinks about body parts and separated limbs and parts of people, and lost lives and pieces left in Afghanistan and she wants to understand, but she doesn’t know if she ever will because Jane spent a large part of her military career in that godforsaken place, a large part that Maura will probably never understand.  There were things that Jane had done and seen in Afghanistan that she could tell Maura in the middle of the night when Jane thinks she’s sleeping and then there are things Jane would and could not talk about.

She isn’t sure this is something that will ever go away for Jane.

Jane tells her that the grocery store is overwhelming, the shelves too high and full of too many colors and options and the lights are always too bright. They stop going to the grocery store together after Jane punches a woman who was complaining to an employee about the store not stocking her son’s favorite cereal.

Later at home, Jane thinks about the little kids in Afghanistan running around barefoot in the mud and dirt and she doesn’t regret it at all.

* * *

 

Maura arranges a meeting for Jane and some old friends when they call to ask about her and a half an hour later, they’re all loud and their voices are shrill, talking over each other and Jane fucking hates it when people talk over each other because only one person should be talking and everyone else should be listening or else people could die when someone don’t pay attention.

Jane’s head is throbbing and her headache is uncontrollably painful. She pretends to receive an important phone call to get away from them and she spends the rest of the afternoon on the couch with her head resting in Maura’s lap, sleeping.

She misses Afghanistan, like she misses her rifle. When she thinks about Afghanistan she feels an empty ache low in her belly. Sometimes she thinks she feels Maura watching her and judging her and god, she doesn’t want to be that person. She’s trying so hard not to be that person.

People keep telling her, “It’s okay, you’re back now, you’re home.”

She gets so angry when people tell her that because anyone could just say that, but no one actually wants to talk about it. Jane doesn’t want to be that antisocial psycho who doesn’t want to do anything, but she doesn’t know what to do about it, but she also doesn’t want anyone to know that she’s that person because she wants to be the one to figure out why she’s like that.

Their home gym is where she spends most of her time. She spends hours and hours on end just shadowboxing and working the heavy bag and at the end she’ll be completely exhausted and dripping in sweat but it’s quiet and it’s just nice to be alone and thinking on her own.

At times, Jane has moments where she feels like she’s numb, isolated. Her family and Maura love her, she knows that and they always try to get it through to her but Jane‘s numb and she can’t be reached. She goes through periods of loneliness and she moves on auto-pilot – there’s no emotion, no fear, but just indifferent. Jane just doesn’t care sometimes and that mentality would go on for weeks.

It’s just that when she came home, all the things that used to be important aren’t all that important anymore.

Her only saving grace is Maura and Jane fervently prays every night into the dark that Maura never leaves her, despite all of Jane’s shortcomings.

 

* * *

 

_“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”_ _  
―_ _Plato_

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay. Finally back home and partially settled. It's weird being back.

**_Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder:_ **

_Once only known as “shell shock”, a vague condition affecting war veterans, PTSD is now recognized as an anxiety disorder brought on by a traumatic event._

_Currently PTSD affects an estimated 2.2% of the population (7.7 million) and 11-20% of veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars (300,000 people)._

_10% of women and 5% of men will develop PTSD in their lifetime._

_7-8% of the population will experience PTSD at some point in their lifetime._

_55-70% of the population will experience a traumatic event in their lifetime._

_While there are effective treatments available, many people, especially veterans, do not seek or receive help for the condition._

_The causes of PTSD begin with a traumatic event such as:_

  *   _An attack or assault_
  * _A serious accident_
  * _A natural disaster_
  * _A terrorist attack_
  * _Combat_
  * _T_ _he death of a loved one_



_Not everyone who experiences a traumatic event will develop the disorder. **PTSD is more likely to arise if:**_

  * _The person was directly exposed to the trauma as a victim or a witness._
  * _During the event, the person believed they or a loved one was in danger._
  * _The person had a severe reaction during the event, such as crying, shaking, vomiting, or feeling apart from their surroundings._
  * _The trauma is long-lasting or severe._
  * _The person experienced additional trauma early in life._
  * _The person felt helpless during a trauma._
  * _The person was seriously hurt during an event._



_When we are exposed to **danger** , our body undergoes split second changes such as increased heartbeat and raised adrenaline levels, to help us cope. When you have PTSD, the response is changed or broken and can be triggered when there is no danger present._

**_Symptoms of PTSD:_ **

  * _Anger_
  * _Flashbacks_
  * _Emotionally numb_
  * _Insomnia_
  * _Anxiety_
  * _Depression_
  * _Nightmares_
  * _Violent outbursts_
  * _Poor memory_
  * _Frightening thoughts_
  * _Feeling tense or “on edge”_
  * _Avoiding things related to the experience_
  * _Guilt_



_Symptoms can be triggered by people, places and things related to the trauma._

_Symptoms can appear days, weeks, months or years after the traumatic event. **Over time, these symptoms can lead to:**_

  * _Unemployment_
  * _Drug and alcohol abuse_
  * _Alienation from friends and family_
  * _Homelessness_
  * _Violence against self and others_



**_PTSD, Alcohol, and Drug Abuse:_ **

_While alcohol and drug use by active members of the military has gone down over the past 30 years, studies suggest that it may be rising among veterans with PTSD._

_Up to 80% of Vietnam veterans seeking PTSD treatment abuse alcohol._

_Adolescents with PTSD are 4 times more likely than adolescents without PTSD to experience alcohol abuse or dependence. They are 6 times more likely to experience marijuana abuse or dependence and 9 times more likely to experience hard drug abuse or dependence._

**_PTSD and the Military:_ **

_10% of all Gulf War veterans suffer from PTSD._

_11-20% of all veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars._

_30% of all Vietnam veterans._

_Before PTSD was recognized as an anxiety disorder, 24% of Korean War and 37% of World War II soldiers who saw direct combat were discharged for psychiatric reasons._

**_Combat is not the only cause of PTSD._ **

_55% of women in the military have reported sexual harassment while serving and 23% have reported sexual assault._

_38% of men in the military have experienced sexual harassment while serving._

**_PTSD is more likely to develop if a service member killed or believed they killed someone else, than if they felt their own life was at risk._ **

_PTSD has been noted in every American war, but it was only recognized as a distinct disorder in the 1980’s._

_Studies report that as many as two-thirds of Iraq and Afghanistan veterans suffering from PTSD may not be receiving treatment._

_Some veterans may be denied care for their condition, while others do not seek treatment because:_

  * _They fear it will lead colleagues or bosses to lose respect for them or lose confidence in them._
  * _They fear it will hurt their careers._
  * _They are concerned about the side effects of medication._
  * _They are concerned about the cost and effectiveness of therapy._



**_Treatment Options for PTSD:_ **

  * _Counseling and psychotherapy_
  * _Prescription drugs (for some symptoms)_
  * _Exposure therapy (re-imagining events in a safe environment)_
  * _Group therapy_



* * *

People are glad to see her.

But it’s not a “hey, I’m glad you’re back from vacation or college”. No, it’s more of a “I’m glad to see you’re alive, let’s drink to that”.

So Jane gulps down every free drink she gets from the people who keep thanking her for her service at the local bar, and then she orders some more to keep the grimace of a smile on her face as she thanks them for their support. They clasp her hand and heartily embrace her like a hero, and Jane flinches every time someone sneaks up on her or yells her name. She ends up dragging Maura to a decently sized corner and just sits there with her eyes closed; Maura curled up under her arm and Maura’s hand squeezing her knee, anchoring her.

They ask her all sorts of questions, what Afghanistan was like, how the “Afghanis” acted, like they weren’t real people as well, but just foreign attractions at a zoo that civilians oohhed and ahhed over while being simultaneously frightened but intrigued. Jane’s not surprised at the level of ignorance that civilians show when talking about the war.

They always talk about how the president this, this political party that, how the war is dumb but they support her. Jane wants to sneer about the fact that she doesn’t care about their opinions, because she didn’t go overseas for the president or because she believed in the war, but because of the group of people who were at her side every time she rolled out that gate in Afghanistan.

Instead, she just washes down her retorts with another mouthful of her drink, and doesn’t bother smiling so Maura smiles politely for her instead.

People ask if she’s killed anyone and Jane manages to brush the variations of the question off until she hears some college students mockingly ask her again a couple tables over.

She carefully sets her drink down, ignoring the pleading look in Maura’s eyes, and walks over to their table. A hush settles when people see her get up and stop in front of the college students. They stare up at her with contempt, but Jane catches the fear in the eyes. She hasn’t forgotten how intimidating she looks when she’s trying. Jane makes sure everyone can hear her when she begins to speak.

“Does your mother prefer anal or oral sex? Because that’s basically how appropriate that question is. If you don’t get your ass kicked or ignored, you’ll get one of three answers.”

Jane ticks each one off on her hand. Their eyes flicker back and forth between her hands and her face. They see the scar peeking out the neck of her shirt.

“One – the veteran you’re asking will say no and they’ll think less of themselves for not falling into your misinformed and naïve definition of a veteran as someone who should have killed another human being in order to be a ‘real soldier’.”

“Two – they actually have killed someone and by asking them that question, you’re bringing up memories that they’ve been trying to forget or trying to resolve the guilt of having killed someone in order to save their battle buddy next to them.”

“Or three – you get the guy who actually enjoyed their job and the exhilarating feeling of ending someone else’s life and they just regret that they couldn’t get that one knife kill.”

When she smiles, it’s not really a smile, it’s more of a flash of her teeth and for a second, her face changes into something wolfish and unrecognizable and then disappears. But when everyone in that bar looked at Jane, they didn’t see the innocence of someone who’d never killed – they just weren’t sure which of the last two she was.

“Which one do you think I am?”

The look on her face could have been feigned, but when Maura quietly asks her later, Jane just shrugs. She’s not quite sure herself.

War is something you can leave, but it never really leaves you, Jane realizes. She’s home, but she isn’t really back. She always has Afghanistan to think about.

 

* * *

 

There’s a mountain of pamphlets and booklets and packets on the table in front of her and Maura even brought her laptop to the kitchen to show Jane the research she’s been doing.

Neither of them have actually come out and actually said what’s wrong, and Jane instantly becomes defensive whenever someone mentions PTSD. Maura’s not sure what it really is, the stigma, or Jane thinking that it’ll go away on its own. Maura notices and she carefully shelves it in her mind and she takes note of every little symptom and behavior Jane exhibits and she remembers. Jane is in the throes of PTSD, but she clings onto her denial so tightly, Maura occasionally catches glimpses the moon-shaped indents on the palms of Jane’s hands.

Maura sits in front of Jane and slowly explains all the Veterans Administration’s benefits and treatments. She learns that the first thing she can do is learn more about PTSD and how it is affecting Jane. Maura talks about the VA and therapy and group therapy, family therapy, group meetings, the medication she could expect.

Jane tries, she really does. She focuses on Maura’s lips and her hands shuffling the papers on the table and the scrolling on the laptop, but eventually, her focus fades in and out. She zones out and she jolts back a couple seconds later, but sometimes it takes longer than a couple seconds and Maura notices the blank look on her face and then Jane has to reassure her that she’s listening.

Nowadays, lying comes too easily. ‘I’m fine’ falls from her lips more frequently than ‘I love you’.

Maura’s voice seems to be muffled, Jane knows she’s speaking clearly, but it’s as if her head’s been dunked underwater and Jane’s not sure if she’s drowning or if she’s been like this the whole time, but she just tricked herself into thinking that she’s been warily treading water. Jane listens to Maura drone on and on and she wonders how long it’s been, and occasionally she’ll catch a few specific words that’ll make her bristle. She’s not really hearing Maura ,no, it’s like a low murmur, a constant buzzing, kind of distorted and indistinct.

Jane knows she’s lucky to have Maura. Maura’s so sweet and patient and understanding and Jane is damaged and ugly and angry all the damn time. Sometimes she can’t eat, sometimes (all the time) she’ll drink enough alcohol in a week that would supply the entire city Boston for a month, and sometimes she’s afraid to go to bed in case she gets waken up by images of dead bodies and nightmares, but when she does fall asleep she’ll wake up with her heart racing a million miles a minute and all she can do is cry. Jane had never been the sort of person to cry easily, but now she cries all the time. She sleeps with her pistol wedged in between the mattress and the bed frame, the grip sticking out for easy access.

Afghanistan was easy and she’d rather be back in Afghanistan. All she had to worry about was getting blown up or shot and there was no stupid bullshit like worrying whether the butcher had your free range chicken breasts or whether the bank had closed early. Overseas, she lived two hours out because in Afghanistan, sometimes only two hours was the guarantee and sometimes even two hours wasn’t guaranteed. She’s so emotionally present-focused, it’s like being stuck in a loop over and over again, a broken record that no one could fix and she didn’t know where the problem’s coming from.

She knows she’s fucked up, she does, even if she pretends that she isn’t. Jane’s just trying not to put it all on Maura because her sweet, beautiful girlfriend is trying to do everything she can to help her and all Jane can do is get angry and pick fights and throw and hit things. She almost hits Maura one day, and she’s so ashamed and terrified of herself and what she could do that she locks herself in the workout room and comes out 6 hours later, hands bloody, the heavy bag ripped off its chain, all cried out and begging Maura for forgiveness. Jane doesn’t know what she would do if she physically laid hands on Maura, but she knows she wouldn’t forgive herself.

It would be so easy for Jane to die for Maura because she loves her. Living for Maura, which is what she wants, is so much harder. It’s even harder because Maura is so smart and she doesn’t need anyone to rescue her, which is what Jane is best at, rescuing those in need. It’s all she knows how to do and she does it really well. Jane questions whether Maura needs her at all and she knows Maura could do so much better.

If there was a hero to this story, Maura would be it. Maura’s gentle and loving and everything Jane doesn’t deserve.

 

* * *

 

_“War does not determine who is right - only who is left.”_ _  
―_ _Bertrand Russell_


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been so long.

_They joke about dying sometimes._

_They joke about it when they’re fucking around in the barracks, going over battle drills, or just shooting the shit in the chow hall. They laugh about getting Purple Hearts, they daydream about the ferocious firefights they’d get into where they’d kill all their enemies and dive back in to just save a buddy and then later on they’ll turn around and tease each other about wanting to be a hero._

_But no one ever seems to want to talk about when they can’t sleep at night thinking about what would happen if they were to fail, if they were unable to be the hero they so often dream about. No one wants to talk about how happy they feel when they get their first confirmed kill because hey, they scored one for the good guys and they saved their buddy. And then absolutely no one wants to talk about the horror that creeps up on them when they realized they just celebrated killing another human being. Are they monsters, or are they heroes?_

_Jane remembers every one of her nightmares and they’re always the same ones. She doesn’t tell anyone but Frost and even then, she leaves out specific details because despite them being dreams, she’s afraid to say it out loud lest they become reality._

_Frost confides in her sometimes or sometimes he just listens. Sometimes he’ll ask her questions that make her chuckle and answer with a sad smile on her face and other times he’ll ask things that cause both of them to lapse into an uncomfortable silence, thinking about the questions._

_He only tells her he’s scared once during the span of the entire deployment. Frost utters it with such defeat and shame in his voice, Jane has to resist the urge to punch him but instead just glares at him, willing him to look her in the eyes._

_He doesn’t, and Jane scoffs._

_“That’s normal, you idiot. I’m fucking scared every time we roll out that gate. If you’re not scared, you’re wrong. Fear keeps you alive. It keeps you vigilant. If you’re not scared, you’re one of four things: stupid, lying, crazy, or all of the above.”_

 

* * *

 

Maura’s mouth is on Jane’s throat in the dark bedroom and Jane feels every puff of breath Maura exhales onto her skin.

She doesn’t remember how long she’s been awake, but Jane knows she hasn’t fallen asleep yet. Her left hand dangles over the side and her fingers occasionally twitch over the pistol grip wedged underneath her mattress, and she takes solace in feeling the cool polymer.

Jane slowly untangles herself from Maura, taking care not to wake her, but once she’s free, she doesn’t leave the bed. She sits up and she lets her gaze linger over Maura’s naked form in the bed.

She watches Maura’s chest rise and fall and she counts them in her head and at twenty-nine, she realizes she’s holding her pistol and flicking her safety on and off at each count. Jane stops and lowers the pistol to her lap, resting her hands on top of it.

It’s been happening a lot more recently. Sometimes she’d wake up and other times she just won’t be able to sleep. Sometimes she’d count and other times she’d tell Maura her dreams, her nightmares, what happened overseas, anything that comes pouring out and tonight, it just seems to be both.

“It assaults all your sense, Maura – the smell of death in the air, the weapons, the machines that cause it and the incessant buzzing of flies that gather around rotten corpses in the fields. When you hear everything at once, it was like I was under a lawnmower. I was just a tiny ant stuck under a lawnmower and I was so scared.”

Maura lets out a little groan, shifting in the bed and Jane pauses, anticipating. She lets out a breath when she realizes Maura is just dreaming.

“I didn’t tell you this, but I thought I was going to die over there. Honestly, I’d made peace with it. I didn’t tell you, God that would have been horrible. It would’ve been like a suicide note. Who the fuck would tell someone they loved that they knew they were going to die?”

Her leg’s fallen asleep from the weird angle, so Jane shifts and picks her pistol up and cradles it, almost lovingly.

There’s a photo of Jane on the dresser next to the bed, taken during Maura’s photography phase. The picture’s blurry and partially out of focus because Jane had panicked the second she’d realized she was the subject of the photo. Jane remembers complaining about how weirdly narcissistic it was to have a picture of her in the bedroom, but Maura insisted that it was for herself.

Jane looks at the photo, but she isn’t sure that she’s actually seeing it.

“I accepted that I was going to die. I accepted it and it didn’t happen. It didn’t fucking happen and now I’ve got a problem in my head because I went through all the bullshit and now I’m going through it again, but this time I survived. Do you understand? I lived, but I keep telling myself I should’ve died.”

 She loves her Glock. It was like the child Jane never had and she doesn’t delude herself when she says that she takes care of it better than she ever would have with a child. Hell, she probably took better care of her Glock than she did herself.

“No, I don’t want you to understand. That would mean that you would have to share my worst experiences and I love you too much for you to be tainted by that information. I want someone to remain innocent at least. Maura, do you still want me?”

Jane has to choke this out because she doesn’t know any other way to say it.

“Please want me. I need you to realize that my issues aren’t about you. They’re not your fault. Sometimes I hear you crying and it breaks my heart, Maura, because you blame yourself for not being able to do anything and it’s not right. It’s not your fault. They’re my issues, even though sometimes you step in them. The last thing I want is for you to become a casualty of _my_ war.”

Jane slowly stands and she takes a long, hard look at the woman, her girlfriend, in her bed and she clenches her pistol even tighter.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why you stay with me.” Jane turns away and leaves the room.

When you’ve had a gun and you’ve shot and killed people and you’re supposed to be dead anyway, the journey from living and killing other people to a soldier killing themselves isn’t far at all.

Maura jolts awake at the sound of a gunshot echoing through the house.

 

* * *

 

 

_“A true war story is never moral. It does not instruct, nor encourage virtue, nor suggest models of proper human behavior, nor restrain men from doing the things men have always done. If a story seems moral, do not believe it. If at the end of a war story you feel uplifted, or if you feel that some small bit of rectitude has been salvaged from the larger waste, then you have been made the victim of a very old and terrible lie. There is no rectitude whatsoever. There is no virtue. As a first rule of thumb, therefore, you can tell a true war story by its absolute and uncompromising allegiance to obscenity and evil. ”_

_―_ _Tim O'Brien, ‘The Things They Carried’_


End file.
